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The Ninth Wave 


By 

Agnes and Egerton Castle 



New York 

R. HAROLD PAGET 
1911 




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The Ninth Wave 


By 


Agnes and Egerton Castle 


New York 

R. HAROLD PAGET 


Copyright, 1911, by 
Agnes and Egeeton Castle 


y 

V 


C:CI.A2S6875 


The Ninth Wave 

I 

A MID-SUMMMER NIGHT 

The Vidame paused in the sorting of his cards to 
look up at his English host. The two men had sat 
over piquet for several hours already without any 
marked advantage on either side; since the last 
few deals, however, gamester’s fortune had a smile 
full of promise for the French guest; and on this 
winning tide the polished young gentleman saw an 
opportunity of quitting the green table not ungrace- 
fully, and of broaching at last a certain matter 
uppermost in his mind. 

Sir Hugh Courtney, his partner, had been silent 
and still for a noticeable length of time. He was 
now lost in frowning contemplation of the shalft 
of morning rays which, between the folds of the 
window curtains, peirced, exquisite blue, into the 
yellow candlelight of the room. 

Outside a southerly gale was sweeping the land 
from the roaring seaward, charging the massive 
house, cliff perched, ivy -grown; breaking itself 
with shrieks and hisses on its walls, to pursue its 
way bellowing through the landward pines. But 
within all seemed placid enough. In the well- 


4 


THE NINTH WAVE 


closed chamber — the library, lined with brown 
books — the four candle flames of the card table 
scarcely swayed. Two more, burning low on a 
sideboard, shed their quiet light upon an array of 
bottles, cold viands, fruit, and cakes temptingly 
displayed, and glinted back from cut glass and 
silver. A few portraits, half-length or kitkat, 
gazed down with smug sympathy upon the scene. 
This was in the year of glorious George, 1751. 
France and England had actually been at peace 
some three years, and it was possible for a French- 
man to visit an English friend without risk of 
molestation. 

The two gentlemen, albeit with wigs and ruffles 
doffed — the night was warm and, but for the tur- 
moil of the outer air, the windows should have been 
wide open — sat in decorous ease. There was 
nothing to suggest about the game aught more 
soul-stirring than an elegant, gentleman-like pastime. 

But the Vidame, looking up, knew that his last 
words, spoken with well-assumed carelessness, had 
been as the stone dropped on the unruffled, light- 
frozen pool: the even surface was rent with swiftly 
darting Assures, and stirred were the sleeping waters 
beneath. What the Vidame de Rocourt had said 
was this : 

‘‘Truly, a wind to tear the horns off a bullock, 
as we say in Brittany. It blows straight from 
Cape la Hogue. M. de Courtenay, your brother 
will And the first night of his wedded life — tem- 
pestuous, over yonder!” 

Sir Hugh, on meeting his guest’s look, slowly 
dropped his cards on the table, rose, walked to the 


A MID-SUMMER NIGHT 


5 


window, and dragged the curtain back with a move- 
ment of subdued fierceness. A fiood of white light 
filled the room, and on the instant the candle 
flames dwindled to the semblance of so many crocus 
flowers. 

The sun was not yet above the horizon; but at 
two of the morning in mid-June the day was already 
bright enough to reveal the world in beauty. But 
the man beheld naught of things visible to the eye; 
he peered out as though, below the curves of the 
southern horizon, he could descry that distant shore 
where sat, on a rocky spur of cliff even as his own, 
the house of his hatred. 

The Vidame silently turned round on his chair, 
watching with acute interest. 

This Monsieur de Rocourt, a small-built but 
shapely youth with a delicately cut face, had a 
peculiar gaze in his blue eyes, which it required all 
his high-bred courtesy of gesture and suavity of 
voice to save from being offensively inquisitive. 

The Englishman, on the other hand, whom he 
was so scrutinizing at his ease, might unreservedly 
have been accepted by the world as the best type 
of his race and class. Tall and clean limbed he 
was, with a fine leg and broad shoulders, head 
boldly set, strong, sharp-chiselled features, clear 
skin, straight brows, and gray eyes wide apart. On 
his mouth there was now a bitter compression, 
which seemed to darken his whole countenance. 

‘‘So, yonder he lies!” was the thought that cir- 
cled, threatening, relentless like^a hawk’s flight, 
through his mind. And M. de Rocourt, enabled 
by the crude light of morning to take stock of his 


6 


THE NINTH WAVE 


host’s looks, in a manner which had been denied him 
since his arrival last night, was struck with renewed 
amazement. 

Never could he have believed in the possibility 
of such complete likeness. True, he had, in Paris, 
heard of the notable resemblance of ^‘les beaux 
Courtenays,'' the handsomest men, as it was on all 
hands admitted, in the whole body of the Maison 
du Roy. But, had it not been for the undeniable 
fact of his crossing in front of the gale which was 
now raging at its full, and landing from St. Malo 
at Brixham on the previous day, he might well 
have believed that he was still gazing at Monsieur 
de Courtenay in his Chateau de Brieux yonder, on 
Cape la Hogue, not at Sir Hugh Courtney, at 
Anstiss Hall, on the Devonshire coast. Ay, even 
so had M. de Courtenay stood staring, in frowning 
meditation, upon the north horizon, when he had 
heard, but some thirty-six hours before, of his 
guest’s destination, 

“Faith!” thought the Vidame, the only difference 
noticeable between the two was the gorge-de-pigeon 
coat and the silver brocade vest of the bridegroom 
waiting for the call of French church bells, and the 
dark-blue silk of this bachelor in his lonely English 
house. And, turning his mind back to the delicate 
nature of his errand: “Faith!” he further thought. 
“Our friend’s countenance is ominous of anything 
but easy success for me!” He dropped his hand, 
face upward, even as his partner had done, upon 
the green cloth. xAnd at the movement Sir Hugh 
turned round. With a forced smile which did not 
light up his eyes he came back to the table. 


A MID-SUMMER NIGHT 


7 


“Upon honour, Vidame,” he said haltingly, “I am 
ashamed of my boorishness!” Rustariderie was the 
word he used: they conversed in French. M. de 
Rocourt’s English was of a rudimentary nature, 
grudgingly acquired some years before in the suite 
of the French Ambassador to St. James’s. Sir 
Hugh, on the other hand, who had lived the best 
part of his life, from his teens until his late retire- 
ment, at the Court of Louis le Bien-Aime, spoke 
French with a patrician neatness barely tinged 
with English intonation. “Forgive it for this 
once,” he went on. “The suddenness of the 
news ” 

The Vidame raised his eyebrows in affected polite 
surprise. 

“News.^ M. de Courtenay, your brother ” 

‘ ‘ My stepbro th er ! ” 

“Your stepbrother, to be precise. Yet it had 
not occurred to me that you could ignore ” 

“I would not have ignored long! So he is mar- 
ried.^” There was a suppressed exultation in the 
tones which accorded strangely with the words, 
“He has done it — he has taken the step!” 

The host sat down as he spoke; then, meeting 
again his guest’s eye, which had assumed an ob- 
trusive expression of interest, he made a fresh effort 
to resume his composure and went on, with a slight 
laugh : 

“I feel, Vidame, I owe you som.e explanation. 
Perhaps” — with a note of inquiry — “it may 
prove better entertainment than a pursuance of 
this game.” He glanced at the cards. “I see I 
should have lost this manche also.” Picking up 


8 


THE NINTH WAVE 


a number of the pieces at his side, he pushed them, 
with a slight bow, toward his partner’s stake. 
“Unless,” he went on, “you should prefer to seek 
your room? This fatiguing journey ” 

“Faith, no, I never was wider awake. Sir Hugh! 
And if, as I now incline to think, these news are of 
a kind that touch you closely, it is fitting that I 
should first discharge myself of my embassy.” 

As the last word dropped. Sir Hugh, who had 
begun to blow out the candles, stood still for an 
instant, looking fixedly into space; then he turned 
his head and shot a swift glance upon his guest, 
which again, by a return of the old French courtly 
habit, passed into a smile. 

“Indeed, my dear Vidame, it is an embassy, 
then? An embassy — to me, which procured me 
the advantage of your visit in my wilderness?” 

He concluded his task among the candles, pushed 
the card table aside, dragged the beaufet forward 
in its stead, and sat down, once more facing his 
companion. 

“We cannot call it supper in this white light of 
day,” he continued; “but will you not make it a 
dejeuner? As you observe, on the stout and coarse 
tree-stump of my English home life I have grafted 
some of the gayer branches that blossom in your 
fair France. It has, truth to say, taken some time 
to make this old place habitable again, after lying 
so many years under a factor’s care. This had 
been a nuit blanche: it recalls, across the water, 
does it not, something of our habits at that Ver- 
sailles I am never to see again?” 

“Which, Sir Hugh,” retorted the Vidame, with 


A MID-SUMMER NIGHT 


9 


an air of ingenuous confidence, as he unfolded a 
napkin, ''you will surely see and adorn again, if I 
am as fortunate as I trust to be on my errand.” 

Without a word, but with a thoughtful coun- 
tenance, the Englishman detached the wing of a 
fowl, displaying in the operation that dexterity of 
a French viveur which was so much at odds with 
his all-English personality. He passed the plate 
across the table, and filled two beakers. 

“Volnay — of the comet year,” he said then, as 
the guest smilingly raised the deep ruby to the 
light. ‘‘The wine of the happy in love, in the 
words, you may remember, of the Well-Beloved 
himself. M. de Courtenay shared my admiration 
for Volnay,” he went on with a sardonic smile. 
“Now should be his time to finish the year!” 

The Vidame drank, with deliberate appreciation, 
and marked that Sir Hugh had absently put down 
his glass untouched. Sir Hugh, indeed his eyes 
once more turned to the distant skyline, seemed 
to have fallen into depths of musing. 

“I am grateful.” said the Frenchman gayly, 
addressing himself to his plate. “But your hos- 
pitality is, in sooth, a thing to admire. Were it not 
so fine and French it might best be described as 
Biblical. ... I alight from a post-chaise at 
your gates, no doubt the most unexpected of all 
conceivable apparitions. I have the good fortune 
to find you in residence. Will Sir Hugh Courtenay 
receive the Vidame de Rocourt at this utterly 
undue hour of the night.^ Monsieur le Vidame 
(comes your answer), what welcome wind has blown 
you to this coast Service du Roy, answered the 


10 


THE NINTH WAVE 


Vidame, as though he were still in his master’s 
dominions. And behold, your great silent house 
is forthwith illumined for the wayfarer; trotting 
upon his attendance go valets and butler. Dinner 
warm. Wine uncorked. Cards spread. Coverlet 
turned down. In short, but for the thunder of 
the sea under the windows, M. le Vidame might 
fancy himself once more in the Gentilhommes An- 
glais's mansion of the Reservoir at Versailles. And 
another sun has risen before he finds an opening to 
state the purpose of his wayfaring!” 

“An embassy, I believe that was the word you 
used, M. de Rocourt.^” said Sir Hugh, starting from 
his reverie when the loquacious Frenchman paused 
in his encomium. “Indeed, I did surmise from the 
first that only an embassy — King’s service, as you 
said — could send the gay Vidame de Rocourt so 
far from the precincts of Versailles. Hence this 
very natural discretion which you are so good as 
to praise. But this embassy, it now appears, is 
to me.* I may therefore inquire.” He spoke with 
an assumed carelessness. “Your starting point, 
I gather, was yonder,” he went on, “where, as you 
say, the gale is blowing straight from, and I con- 
clude that he who sends you ” 

“Is M. de Courtenay, your brother.” 

‘ ‘ My stepbrother . ’ ’ 

“Your pardon again! Your conclusion, sir, is 
no doubt natural, but nevertheless erroneous. In 
fact, to plunge into the heart of things, I do actually 
convey a message from his Majesty’s own mouth. 
Nothing less, on my honour!” assured the speaker, 
in answer to his host’s look of amazement. 


A MID-SUMMER NIGHT 


11 


“From the King?” 

“From the King. Faith! I own that such a 
mission to a private gentleman justifies the marvel- 
ling I mark upon your face. But you, my dear 
Sir Hugh, whom your former service brought so 
close to his Majesty, know that<a lady’s whim, when 
that lady is the Queen of the Moment, the more 
than Queen, and has name, say de Mailleville ” 

“Ah, it was the duchess!” A smile fleeting 
between bitterness and amusement passed over 
Sir Hugh’s lips. He once more threw himself into 
his role of lightly interested listener, and sipping 
his wine — ‘‘ Peste! My dear Vidame,” he went on, 
“marvels will never cease. So, after a whole year’s 
absence, there is in France at least one lady who has 
not forgotten my existence?” 

“As you see — so it would seem. Indeed, the 
loss of both the handsome Courtenays was ap- 
parently more than could be borne. Now that 
deplorable event was consummated when Monsieur, 
your stepbrother, with his Majesty’s leave, retired 
upon his estates, to take unto himself the spouse 
I alluded to just now, in connection with this gale 
of mighty voice.” 

“Of a truth! It was my — it was this man’s 
departure which recalled my existence to mind! 
Upon my soul, I should be gratified!” 

The Vidame had a little dry laugh. 

“Why, yes. On the whole you should. Any 
cause — mark me, I do not profess to understand 
further in this matter — but any cause, I say, which 
may restore a man of your calibre to the joys of 
the French court should be gratifying. Faith, 


12 


THE NINTH WAVE 


you have here a handsome estate — an admirable 
house. But the solitude — save us ! The precise 
provincial dame and the rustic wench! . 

What the devil! A man of your stamp, a man of 
the Beau Courtenay’s fortune and spirit, to grow 
old in such surroundings! Not to be thought of! 
Nightmare, sir — nightmare! Ancestral estates.^ 
Ancestral estates were created to make revenue. 
Revenue is bestowed on a gentleman to be spent 
in the court. Therefore, say I, any cause is good 
enough.” 

“You are a diplomat, M. de Rocourt. You 
introduce your case with persuasion. Well, let 
us admit, in these pourparlers at least, that the 
cause is good enough. I listen. You come with 
a request which, were I still in his French Majesty’s 
service, would be an order. But I am here in my 
own land, and, so long as I remain in this land, 
my own master. When you come, therefore, with 
a proposal, as I take it, that I should return to the 
eountry from which it has pleased the King to banish 
me, you come surely with conditions. And as I 
said, I listen.” 

The Vidame now complacently felt in his element. 

“Upon honour, my dear Sir Hugh,” he began, 
with a winning smile, “you give me a fairer opening 
for the preambles than I dared to expect. But 
you were always the most courteous of fencers! 
Well, let us review the situation. Let us consider 
the strange perversity of events which ended in 
your relegation to this outlandish place, which, 
moreover (and stranger still), sent me, the Vidame 
de Rocourt, twelve months later, to seek you hither! 


A MID-SUMMER NIGHT 


13 


The King my master, had — I wish I could still say, 
has — in his favoured company of Gens d'Armes 
Anglais, two gentlemen in whom, for many years, he 
was pleased to take an especial interest. There 
have been few posts of honour near his sacred person 
at court or in camp to which at most times he did 
not prefer one or the •other.” 

“One — or the other,” echoed Sir Hugh musingly. 

“One or the other, or both. It pleased the royal 
fancy to have riding right and left of his coach in 
the town or on a campaign the two handsomest 
cavaliers of his household — gentlemen of oft- 
proved valour — which goes without saying — 
but also, what is much rarer, in my country at 
least, gentlemen of discretion. These two were 
brothers.” 

“ Half-brothers, Vidame ! ” 

The words were interjected between lips parted 
on a sardonic smile. 

“Granted, my dear sir; but men so convincingly 
the sons of the same father, that, under the uniform, 
not the most intimate friend could tell at one 
glance the elder from the cadet! The heavenly 
twins 1 That was the sobriquet among the ladies, 
unless it was les beaux Anglais du RoyV^ 

Sir Hugh made a gesture of suppressed impatience 
and the Vidame exclaimed, in the tones of one 
struggling with exasperating perversity: 

“You English are an ever-renewed enigma, with 
your spleen! Now, true Frenchmen would have 
understood their good fortune and relished every 
hour of it. But not so you gentlemen from overseas, 
who ever appear to have a warp of some kind in 


14 


THE NINTH WAVE 


your soul. What the name of the devil may be who 
took possession of yours I know not; but under his 
guidance you must needs poison these lavish gifts 
of Providence by an insane, unconquerable — let 
me be eloquent — by a Cain-like hatred ” 

On these last words the listener had taken breath 
as though about to exclaim*, but closed his mouth 
upon the unspoken words. He rose and paced the 
length of the room. When he came back to his 
guest it was with an easy gesture and an even voice 
that he begged him to proceed. 

“Let me not interrupt you. It is correct that 
you should develop your message on your own 
chosen lines.” 

The Vidame made a slight inclination of the 
head. Then, crossing one neat leg over the other, 
and negligently playing with a fruit-knife, went on 
suavely : 

“I, believe me, do not presume to pass a judgment. 
I merely refer to what has become common talk at 
Versailles. When the sons of the same father have 
been known to meet twice in one year, for no reason 
discovered, on the duelling ground — none of our 
courtly encounters to first blood, but being, each in 
turn incapacitated for months from performing 
their duties in the company by some furiously 
inflicted wound — the verdict of the world is bound 
to be adverse. If you will bring your memory 
back for a moment to that singularly disagreeable 
episode of the Cour des Marechaux — ‘Cain-like’ 
was the expression used by his Majesty himself. So, 
at least, it was reported at court.” 

“I do not forget it. But what matters the word.^ 


A MID-SUMMER NIGHT 


15 


The thing is what matters — no words of the King 
can alter that.” 

‘‘His Majesty’s word can alter many things,” 
returned the Vidame, with an ironical raising of 
his tone, soon repressed, however. “But, as I am 
to convey some further royal words, let me recall 
certain details touching this same court of 
Marshals ” 

“My dear Vidame, assuredly you do not imagine 
that the smallest of that day’s proceedings could 
already have slipped my memory.^ Shall we not 
come to the present embassy.^” 

“I will not, trust me, tax your patience longer 
than necessary. But there are one or two facts 
connected with that disastrous interview which you 
most probably ignore, which may explain my 
extraordinary mission. For you will admit that 
such a one as this, from a King to a dismissed and 
exiled oflScer, is altogether without a precedent.” 

Sir Hugh sat down with a look of resignation. 

“The King, then,” resumed the Vidame, in self- 
complacent tones, “as the fountain of honour, never 
sets his face against affairs of honour between his 
gentlemen. When you and M. de Courtenay, at 
the cross-alleys behind Trianon, just at the moment 
when you were drawing the fraticidal blade for the 
third time, were arrested by the Marechaussee in 
the King’s name, the oiOBcer who took possession 
of your swords might, with more truth, and but for 
etiquette, have said : ‘ In the name of the Duchesse 
de Mailleville.’ ” 

The Englishman raised a glance in which a shade 
of surprise could be discerned, but no other emotion. 


16 


THE NINTH WAVE 


“Her Grace,” the Vidame proceeded, after a 
slight pause, “had lately ascended to her position 
en pied, and his Majesty had nothing to refuse her. 
What Madame de Mailleville’s motive spring may 
have been, you perhaps know. No one else, at 
least, has ever understood it exactly. The lieu- 
tenant of police, as we are aware, rarely fails to 
hear of intended rencounters, and his Majesty is 
made’ acquainted with them in the briefest time. 
The report concerning the Messieurs de Courtenay 
reached him at supper. It was Madame de Maille- 
ville who — in an outburst of sensibility which, 
they say, caused the King to laugh consumedly — 
demanded that some means should be devised to 
quell, once for all, this unnatural inveteracy against 
each other of the two most admired gentlemen in 
the court. Thus it came to pass that, after forty- 
eight hours’ close arrest, ces Messieurs de Courtenay 
of the Gens d' Armes Anglais, were brought before the 
Marshals. As a signal mark of royal interest, the 
proceedings were attended by the King himself — 
a singularly solemn tribunal, in sooth! But what 
you may not know, my dear sir,” insisted the Vidame 
in deprecation of his hearer’s repressed impatience, 
“is that the duchess herself, unseen but seeing, 
behind a door screen, was present at this secret 
ceremonial, it being the King’s pleasure to please 
her in all matters.” 

Sir Hugh gave a short laugh. 

“Secret ceremonial!” he muttered, with bitter 
irony. “And yet you ” 

The Vidame echoed the laugh in self-satisfaction. 

“As the ancient Seigneur Pierre de Montaigne 


A MID-SUMMER NIGHT 


17 


has it somewhere,” he went on lightly, ‘‘sooner or 
later everything is known. And at Versailles, as 
you are aware, it is generally sooner. It was the 
court’s desire honourably to assuage the feud, but 
from the outset all efforts failed. To their inquiries 
you, it appears, refused to divulge any reason; and 
M. de Courtenay asseverated an utter ignorance 
of any cause for your unquenchable animosity. 
Judgment was passed against you. Now I’ll wager 
you never knew precisely why and ” 

“Oh, simple enough!” The interruption broke 
out with a sneer. “The all too welcome submission 
of a craven ” 

“In Heaven’s name sir! A man of your own 
blood! An esteemed officer of his Majesty! But, 
pardon me, I must come to the point ” 

Sir Hugh had risen. 

“I can spare you the trouble, Vidame,” he said 
in a voice of restrained anger. “Judgment, as you 
say, was passed against me. In that fleur-de-lys 
room, in the presence of the King, whom it is admit- 
ted I have served well; in the presence of six of the 
greatest gentlemen of the land, not one of whom but 
would have repudiated with indignation any inter- 
ference with his rights in matters of honourable 
quarrel; within the hearing (as, happily, I did not 
know then) of that woman la Mailleville, I was 
given the choice between two issues, either of 
which was intended top lace, as it was hoped, this — 
this man beyond the reach of my sword! I was to 
quit France forthwith, without exchanging another 
word with my adversary, and, further, to stake my 
honour never to set foot, on any pretence whatso- 


18 


THE NINTH WAVE 


ever, upon French soil without the written sanction 
of the King. Failing this oath — the Bastille during 
the King’s pleasure! Well, Vidame,” the English- 
man sat down again, and, squaring his arms on the 
table, looked at his guest with a bitter smile, “what 
would you have chosen.^” 

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. 

“I trust, my dear Sir Hugh, that I should have 
shown as much good sense as you, at least in this. 
The Bastille is in Paris; that is its only good point. 
But the diet, even on the higher scale, is hum, hum!” 
He smiled affectedly and pushed his glass toward 
his host. “As for the air one breathes there, even 
at walking hours on the battlements, it cannot 
(I will be frank) compare with that of your falaise. 
No, decidedly, you chose the better part.” 

“And above all,” added Sir Hugh, as he filled 
the glass mechanically, “your embastilled man is, to 
all purposes, dead. He is, at least, like the dead — 
forgotten. Whereas — ” he spoke now in a lower 
tone and slowly, as one following out an inner 
idea — “whereas a free man, even from a distant 
shore, may at times recall his existence to his — 
friends! It is to be noted that though the oath 
exacted of me by the Marechaux was binding as 
bands of steel — an oath from which there is no 
escape — no similar undertaking was exacted from 
M. de Courtenay. This has since occurred to me 
as strange.” 

“It is less strange than would appear at first 
flush,” said the Vidame, anxious to take back the 
guidance of the discussion. “Your cause, I must 
tell you, was really prejudged. I will expound how. 


A MID-SUMMER NIGHT 


19 


It appears (or so at least it was reported to the 
lieutenant of police) that, as you surrendered your 
sword to the officer, you, in your anger, pointing to 
the guards, threw out a bitter taunt at your adver- 
sary: T congratulate you on your . . . pru- 

dence, M. de Courtenay,’ said you. The taunt, you 
will allow me to say, was undeserved. Indeed, it 
was to convince you of this that I related the part 
Madame de Mailleville played in the drama: she 
it was who spoilt your pretty rencontre. Further, 
your scathing words having come to the King’s 
knowledge, your cause, as I said, was hopelessly 
prejudged. It showed, in his Majesty’s opinion, 
that you alone were bent on protracting an enmity 
which should, in all honour, have been washed out 
in the blood already drawn. It was, therefore, not 
necessary to demand an oath from Monsieur your 
brother.” 

“It was not done, at any rate. And, I suppose, 
with you, the precaution would have been super- 
fluous. M. de Courtenay, who is as free as air, has 
not shown any willingness to seek me here. It 
would be too much to hope,” went on Sir Hugh 
mockingly, “that you have come all this way to 
say that the embargo upon my movements is re- 
called by the King.” 

“Yes, and no. I hope it may be yes. Though, 
to be frank, I must add that the King had well 
nigh forgotten the affair, and that it was the 
duchess ” 

“The duchess again!” 

“Truly, my dear sir, it is plain that you have been 
an eternity away from court. Surely you know that, 


^20 


THE NINTH WAVE 


in France, it is always the duchess — unless it 
happens to be the comtesse or the marquise! And 
now that you are in possession of the facts, I come 
to the kernel of my embassy: I had the honour 
to be of the King’s dejeuner — it is just ten days 
ago. As fortune would have it, there was on duty 
in the salon a gentleman of the English Gens 
d'Armes, one Monsieur de Walden, newly joined. 
A singularly ill-favoured person, for an exception. 
The duchess, who appeared that day wondrous light- 
hearted, whispered into the royal ear some jest 
about the unfortunate officer, which made his 
Majesty smile. ‘And yet he takes the place of our 
beau Courtenay,’ said the King. ‘What!’ cries the 
duchess, ‘the beau Courtenay gone! Killed.^’ 
‘M. de Courtenay,’ says the King, with his mock- 
ing smile, ‘is about to take unto himself a spouse, 
and has retired upon his land in Normandy.’ 
‘Sire, Sire!’ cries her Grace, with that petulant 
gayety that you no doubt remember, ‘your court 
is incomplete without your beaux Courtenay! La, 
there’s no living without one of them at least! 
Married and buried.^ Where’s the other.^ Send 
for him. Sire . . . and, pray, oh pray! let us 

look no more upon snout-nosed, stony-eyed Gens 
d'Armes such as yonder monster! It would posi- 
tively shorten life! One Courtenay, Sire, one 
Courtenay at least, or I die!’ And she went on 
with these follies, amid those peals of argentine 
laughter which seem particularly to delight the King. 
The King is above jealousy, as we all know. At 
last he kissed the beautiful shoulder nearest to him 
and said: ‘You shall not die, morbleul Means 


A MID-SUMMER NIGHT 


21 


shall be found. But if my memory is not treacherous, 
there was a parole. If we relieve our other Cour- 
tenay from it, the first thing we will do will be to run 
down to the Cotentin, and there will be a fresh 
cutting of throats. Then we’ll be more completely 
bereaved of Courtenays than ever ! ’ But her 
Grace was not to be denied. ‘Bah, bah!’ she 
cried; ‘then there must be a reconciliation! 

. There shall be a reconciliation!’ ” 

Sir Hugh started from his resting attitude, to 
sit bolt upright. The Vidame looked at him 
searchingly, but went on with apparent nonchalance: 

“The King, it must be said, shook his head doubt- 
fully, seeing which, some one cried out that a recon- 
ciliation between the Messieurs de Courtenay would 
be a miracle indeed, and thus gave me the keynote 
for the paying of my court both to my King and 
to the influential favourite. ‘That miracle,’ I 
said, ‘would take place on the simple command 
of his Majesty.’ And the duchess cast a look in 
my direction that augured favours to come. ‘Well, 
M. le Vidame,’ says the King, ‘you shall take horse 
this very day and effect this miracle for me; or, 
rather, for the beaux yeux of madame.’ And thus, 
my dear Sir Hugh,” concluded M. de Rocourt, 
rising as though such a message must be delivered 
standing, “your lieutenancy in the Gentlemen at 
Arms awaits you; the return of the King’s favour 
and with it all the delights of the court, from the day 
when you have embraced your brother before my 
eyes and passed your word that all animosity is 
buried between you.” 

Sir Hugh, who had listened to these last words 


THE NINTH WAVE 


with eyes musingly cast to the ceiling, now rose also 
and looked at his guest with sombre irony. 

‘‘And my — brother, as you call him.^” 

“I have already seen M. de Courtenay. I took 
the Chateau de Brieux on my way, to save time 
and so as to meet you, fully commissioned. Half 
the miracle, my dear Sir Hugh, is effected. I found 
him in a melting mood. I told you, did I not, that, 
even as I arrived, he was waiting for his bride?” 

“And he, high-souled man, agrees? A miracle 
truly!” So bitter was the sneer that M. de Rocourt 
fell back, disconcerted. 

The master of Anstiss Hall went to the window, 
but paused an instant meditatively before opening 
it. 

“M. le Vidame,” he said enigmatically at last, 
“strange! It was but yesterday, before I knew 
anything of the new order of things over there at 
Brieux, that I was reading, in one of those books, 
a singularly pregnant phrase of an English author, 
by name Francis Bacon: ‘The man who marries 
hath given hostages to fortune.’ ” 

So saying, the Englishman pulled open the case- 
ment. In gushed a flood of life-giving salt wind, 
clearing at one sweep the air of the room ; and with it 
all the hot-scented atmosphere of Versailles super- 
ficialities, of fevered self-seeking, intrigue, and heart- 
burning, of artiflcial lusts and barren ambitions, 
which seemed to have gathered' round these two 
courtiers. Once more it was England: England 
of the seacoast, at the rise of a clear summer’s 
day. The gale, albeit it abated fast, was still choir- 
ing amid crags and trees, to the time-beating of the 


A MID-SUMMER NIGHT 


23 


breakers and the undertones of dashing and falling 
waters. The Vidame had now lost his bearing 
completely, and in the midst of this noble 
turmoil of the world without was unable to seek it 
again. 


II 


THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH 

The Vidame, still pondering through his morti- 
fication over the means of renewing the discussion 
so abruptly checked, was drawing near the window, 
when Sir Hugh, leaning out, suddenly called, in 
English, and evidently to some one passing outside: 
“Hallo, there! Why, Martin, whither so fast?” 

The Vidame looked over his host’s shoulder. 
A man in labourer’s dress was running past the 
house. At the sound of his master’s voice he 
paused, rather guiltily, and doffed his cap. 

“Wreck, Sir Hugh! There be good ware cast 
ashore.” 

“Where from?” 

“They say she must have struck on Baron Stone, 
please your honour. The lads are already at 
work.” 

And without waiting for leave the man took up 
his run again. Sir Hugh turned in, and, resuming 
the French tongue: 

“Vidame,” he said, “you must yearn for rest. 
Allow me now to escort you to your chamber. As 
for myself, I would ask permission to seek my own 
bed, but there has been a ship broken on our rocks, 
and wreckage, it appears, is cast on the shore. 
This, although the rascals who are hastening to the 


24 


THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 


25 


plunder never sent word to the Hall, requires my 
presence.” 

He spoke once more in his even, courtly tones; 
the vital subject appeared to have been dismissed, 
a thing disposed of. The Vidame was too shrewd 
a watcher to accept this dismissal as final; for the 
present, however, he fell in gracefully enough with 
the new venue. He assumed an air of strong 
interest : 

“A wreck, in verity! But I must see that! How 
easily it might have been my own case had I but 
started a day later! Would it be trespassing too 
long upon your patience to beg that I might ac- 
company you.^” And inwardly: ‘‘No, I do not 
leave you by a footstep’s breadth. Oh, my myste- 
rious gentleman of the Gens d’Armes, I shall yet 
reach at what is at the back of your thoughts, 
in some moment unaware.” 

The two men, passing by the butler fast asleep 
in his armchair in the anteroom, let themselves out 
of the house and plunged into the tide of wind. 
Battling with the blast, they crossed the gardens 
and presently, leaving the green land, engaged upon 
a narrow path that wound its way on the face of 
the red crags down to the shore. 

After a descent, fraught with peril to the inex- 
perienced foot of the French gentleman, they reached 
the flooring of a deep cove, right in front of which, 
barely more than a furlong away, rose sheer to a 
height of some two hundred feet a noble mass of 
rock which, like the rest of that side of the Devonian 
coast, showed deep red under a coping of greenest 
turf. The top of this islet has been weathered 


THE NINTH WAVE 


by wind, frost, and rain into a fantastic semblance 
of ruined towers; its foot plunges without a shelf 
into the sea — the place as inabordable as the 
dungeon that it simulates. Between this reef and 
the mainland, when the wind sits anywhere in the 
south, the waters race, in overpowering sweeps, to 
break themselves, a little farther north, upon the 
jutting of Hope’s Nose. Sealed is the fate of the 
craft that in stormy hours is drawn to the land- 
ward of Tower Stone. Beyond the Nose, however, 
is a wider bight with a gently shelving beach, upon 
which the sea has an unexplained predilection for 
the casting of its relicts. There, upon the sandy 
strand, the surf deals leniently with flotsam cargo 
and timber, which upon the rasps, the saws, the 
grindstones of Hope’s Nose would have been splin- 
tered and shredded to annihilation. It is there that 
upon news of any wreck — and such news travels 
fast — the sparse population of the coast fore- 
gathers to reap the fitful harvest of wind and water. 

Sir Hugh stepped rapidly, without a word, from 
rock to rock, close followed, but with labourious 
steps, by the Vidame, and made for a projecting 
ledge that advanced, pier-like, boldly over the 
tumbled waters. It was high enough for tolerable 
safety, although swept by the lashing spray. From 
that point a clear view is obtained north and south 
of Tower Stone. He rested his back for support 
against the crag, and signed to his companion to 
imitate him; then, screening his eyes with his hands 
from the salty darts, scanned the surroundings. 

The restless waters, charging the reef in rhythmic 
onslaughts like succeeding squadrons, rose against 


THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 


27 


the red walls with never-daunted inveteracy, but 
ever thrown back in white and green cataracts to 
pursue their course, hissing and roaring up the 
boiling channel. Tower Stone was unconquered 
and impassive; but, to the right, half a mile or so 
farther out, a smaller sister islet which in fair weather 
stands placidly just out of the highest tide, had 
disappeared under the leaping foam, its place only 
marked to the eye by high spouting columns of spray. 
The sun had breasted the clear horizon, and under 
its level rays that leaping sparkled like snow. 

After gazing some time. Sir Hugh pointed to 
the place, and, turning to his companion, said close 
to his ear: 

‘‘Yonder is where the ship — whatever she be — 
broke.” Then, pointing again, this time to some 
remnants that drifted, black amid the foam, tossed 
and tortured by the swirl: “And here comes some 
of the wreckage; but yonder” — with a sweep of 
the arm to the north, indicating the beach beyond 
the Nose, where sundry groups, small to the eye 
as ants, could be seen moving to and fro along the 
red sand through the edge of the surf — “but 
yonder will most of it be cast. Are you for accom- 
panying me so far?” 

The Vidame had lost his hat, snatched in spite 
of all care by a vicious gust; he was already drenched 
to the skin ; an unlucky slip had resulted in the tear- 
ing of long strips out of the nattily drawn glossy 
black silk stockings; he was half choked by the 
wind and more than half blinded by the stinging 
drift. In fact, he was about to declare for a retreat 
inland and a belated preference for the bedroom, 


28 


THE NINTH WAVE 


when a change in his companion’s countenance 
arrested his words. Sir Hugh had suddenly grown 
still; and, under his shading hand, was gazing 
intently at a something that was floating by, fifty 
yards,orperhapsevenless, beyond thelineof breakers. 
It was a long piece of timber that heaved and fell, 
now rising to full view on the crest of an unbroken 
wave, now sinking in the trough, to reappear, dismally 
spinning, hopelessly drifting. But upon this inert- 
ness something else could be descried that was not 
quite inert — a man it was, tied or clinging to the 
spar. Once, twice, he distinctly, if feebly, moved, 
shifting his hold as the wood rolled upon itself. 
Suddenly, lifted upon a higher swell, the man seemed 
to perceive the human figures watching upon that 
hard, deserted rock; and, slowly, as by a fearful 
effort, he raised an arm aloft — voiceless appeal — 
for, if he cried, the wind tore and scattered the 
sound from his mouth. 

Once more Sir Hugh pointed, and this was to- 
ward the jags of Hope’s Nose, where almost every 
one of those disjointed morsels of what had once 
been a ship was doomed to be dashed and harrowed, 
slashed and shivered, before passing on to the shore 
beyond. 

“That man,” said Sir Hugh, “unless by a miracle, 
is doomed. Better for him to have been drowned 
outright at the foundering than to be torn up alive, 
as he will be yonder within the half-hour.” 

Even in the forced pitch of the voice, as it con- 
tended with the blast, there could be felt a ring of 
emotion. But the Vidame had, pre-eminently, 
the French national cynicism of callousness: 


THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 


“Poor devil!” he reared back. “I was about to 
request permission to retire. But since there is 
tragedy to be watched to a close, why, I will see 
this out. Poor devil!” he repeated, looking out now 
with some zest; “what a prospect! Faith, there 
is nothing that he may have in him to give that he 
would not promise, at this moment, in exchange 
for succour! And yet you say ” 

“That there is no succour — unless he pass clear 
of yonder rocks.” 

The words were spoken with a solemnity in dire 
contrast with the light tones that succeeded them 
in the Vidame’s mouth: 

“Why, then, let us to yonder rock and see if the 
miracle is vouchsafed.” 

But Sir Hugh remained still and silent, sombrely 
gazing at the flotsam life that had now so slender a 
chance of duration. In another moment, again, 
as the waif was lifted to view on a more monstrous 
wave, the arm was upraised in appeal, lamentably, 
despairingly. And then a prodigy took place, at 
least in the Vidame’s eyes, wide open with cruel 
interest. 

The Englishman doffed his coat and vest — it was 
as if in answer and in promise; for on the high ledge 
he was in full view of the dying wretch — and, 
without another word, ran down toward the beach 
of the cove. 

When the Vidame, after dire difficulties and by 
many devious ways, had rejoined him upon the 
shingle, he found him, already nude to the waist 
and knee-deep in the surf, absorbed in watching the 
rollers, counting and checking on his fingers each 


30 THE NINTH WAVE 

thunderous cataract as it followed in regular suc- 
cession. 

‘‘My man is mad/’ thought the envoy, prudently 
skipping out of touch of a hissing sheet. 

As the measuring index pressed back the fourth 
finger of the left hand, and as a roller more majestic 
than the rest reared its terrifying height, glaucous 
at base, delicate green and white-tufted at the crest; 
just as it was about to break. Sir Hugh dived under 
the tottering mass, with a suddenness and a deter- 
mination that startled the watcher well-nigh to 
terror. 

The back-rush of this appalling cataract carried 
the swimmer as in a mill-race far out before the 
gathering of the next; and he could be seen rising 
upon its olive crest, to disappear in safety behind it, 
many seconds before the breaking point was reached. 

The Vidame was not acquainted with the tradi- 
tion of the ninth wave — the rush held among the 
toilers of the seaboard to gather, after successive 
attempts, its maximun of violence. Then, as if 
spent by the accumulated effort, the surge seems to 
take breath for awhile and once again by degrees 
increase its strength up to the following ninth 
onrush. Whether there be anything to justify the 
special attributes of the ninth wave, certain it is 
that the more mountainous the roller, the farther 
back will its baffled charge roll and with it carry 
any floating object. And thus it was that, in less 
than a minute, the daring swimmer was well out 
in the open and able, away from the boiling foam, 
to strike for his goal. 

To the Vidame, upon the level of the strand, he 


THE VALLEY OF DEATH 


31 


was of course soon out of sight. The burden of the 
watcher’s thoughts changed now to: . ‘‘My man 
is dead.” And he pondered, with vague dismay, 
upon the early cutting down of the royal mission 
which was to have built up the hope of so much credit 
to himself. There was, however, some faint con- 
solation to be found in the foretaste of the tale he 
would anon have to tell of his own fantastic ex- 
periences in the mad Englishman’s company, and 
of their tragic end. 

Filled with these new thoughts, he made his way 
to that northward promontory which had been 
pointed out by Sir Hugh himself, a few moments 
ago, as the probable place of doom. The interest 
had grown twofold. On that rocky point would 
Fate now overtake not only the unknown common 
creature that clung to his spar, but also the de- 
mented man of quality who had plunged into yonder 
seething cauldron, and for no reason conceivable to 
the Frenchman’s mind. 

As the Vidame, in his red-heeled shoes, his 
drenched brocades, toiled through the shingle of 
the cove toward his chosen post of observation. 
Sir Hugh breasted the angry waters with all the 
mastery of one who has been familiar with the salt 
wave from early boyhood; with all the vigour and 
self-confidence of the man intent on the single pur- 
pose of his task, not upon its fears and difficulties. 

After striking for some time in the direction he 
estimated as that of the drifting beam, he caught 
sight of what he was seeking. It was from the 
ridge of another rushing green mountain — the 


32 


THE NINTH WAVE 


ninth again, he dimly thought, as he raised himself 
still farther out of the water. 

In the clear light the man seemed close; he 
could see the pale head turned. Ay, and see the 
piteous cry sent forth unheard in the universal 
roar. But, in a dishevelled sea, progress is slow — 
slow and wearing. It was a mortal length of time 
before, both drifting with the gale and drawing 
ever nearer to that death-swirl around the Nose, 
the swimmer from the shore and the castaway from 
the ship met at last. 

The man’s long hair clung across his face, like 
seaweed on a rock. Between the strands his eyes 
were gleaming. Clutching the spar with one hand, 
he extended the other to the rescurer, and drew^ 
him up to the support. 

“Heaven save you!” he gasped. “Save you — 
and me!” he added in a fervour of fear and love 
of life. 

Sir Hugh grasped the spar, without a word, for 
a few seconds of rest; then, dragging himself close 
to the man’s ear: 

“Can you swim?” he asked. And then, on the 
man’s affirming nod: “You must swim aw-ay, 
outward. Leave this, at once, or die. There is 
death — certain — on the left. Strike for the right. 
Safety on the beach, beyond the rocks.” 

On these breathless w^ords, the man rolled a 
terrified glance toward the mad leaping sheets in 
front of them: they had drawn menacingly near 
during the last minutes. 

“Follow me, close as you can!” 

Shouting the order. Sir Hugh had left the spar. 


THE VALLEY OF DEATH 


After a moment’s awful hesitation, the man relin- 
quished likewise the support, and braced out to the 
best of his strength. 

Thus it came to pass that the Vidame, perched 
upon a pinnacle of Hope’s Nose, saw the spar dash 
in amxong the reefs, to be drawn back writhing like 
a live thing, cast up and withdrawn endlessly, like 
a toy in a great game of destruction. Thus it also 
came to pass that he next beheld, a cable’s length 
farther out, a black dot or two, that were human 
heads; ever and anon a gleam or two in the sun’s 
rays, that were human backs or breasts, slowly 
drifting past and nearer the long line of furling 
rollers on the wide beach beyond. 

The sight filled him with amazement. In an- 
other man the feeling would have glowed with 
enthusiasm; and in a Vidame, a feudatory of Holy 
Church, it should, in propriety, have elicited a 
thought more reverent than, “The devil’s in it!” 
It might, at least, easily have evoked a warmer 
comment than the jubilant one now arising: “Eh, 
eh! But it would look, in truth, as if, after all, my 
mission was not absolutely at an end — yet!” 

Once more he scrambled down from his rock, 
with caution, and made his way to the beach farther 
north, along the yielding sands. A numerous con- 
course of wreckers, among them not a few women, 
were already busy dragging in such relicts as, 
between the inrush of the flood, were left visible 
upon the sands. 

Some distance away a denser group had gathered 
round a man who, mounted on a cask set on end. 


34 


THE NINTH WAVE 


was peering out to sea, occasionally turning round 
and bending as one who reports upon what he is 
spying. By the time the Vidame reached the spot 
there rose a simultaneous shout from the watchers: 

“There they be!” cried one whom the Vidame 
recognized as the man whom the Squire had hailed 
that morning. 

All eyes were strained seaward. Upon the flank 
of a monstrous advancing roller the figures of two 
human beings rose awfully into view, to be lost 
once more in the roaring foam. 

Among the onlookers there was tense excitement; 
but — and the fact struck the Vidame with astonish- 
ment — nothing more. Not one of those, who were 
so obviously familiar with the surf and fearless of 
it who were provided, too, some with ropes, others 
with gaffs and grapplings — made the slightest 
attempt to help their fellow-creatures in their 
peril. 

Twice again could the two be descried, nearer; 
one of them altogether helpless, the other struggling 
with a double task, maintaining himself and his 
comrade against the buffeting waters, and fighting 
their jealous backrush after each cataract. As he 
watched, the Vidame well-nigh felt as if he also 
were suffocating, even as those whom the sea furies 
were strangling but a few yards away from him. 
He gasped as, at length, the bodies, interlaced and 
helpless, were flung upon the shore. But hardly 
had that breath of relief expanded his lungs when 
his heart stood still once more. The sea had caught 
them again. They were being drawn back into its 
ravening maw; one reared himself, struggled. 


THE VALLEY OF DEATH 


35 


clutched. It was le Beau Courtenay! The French- 
man must cover his eyes. Nay, what a tale for 
the court! 

Best of all, if such a tale could end in a rescue! 

The Vidame turned fiercely on the rough fisher- 
man next him and with outflung hand gesticulated, 
ordered. The other, however, shook him off as 
fiercely. The Vidame’s brain reeled. Dementia 
held this world of England: the fellow was counting, 
even as Courtenay a while before! ‘‘Four,” he 
called. Fascinated by the horror and the strange- 
ness, the Frenchman’s eyes followed the universal 
gaze. “Five,” Ay, Dieu! There they were again! 
“ Six.” Nearer. “ Seven.” Nearer yet! 

It broke upon the Vidame’s brain that his friend 
might yet save himself if he would but relinquish 
his clutch upon yonder unknown wretch. That 
was Courtenay all over ! What he gripped he held. 
Something stirred in the Frenchman’s petty soul 
that it had never known before. 

“Eight — nine !” 

Thundering camie that ninth breaker; it bore the 
human burden upon its mighty crest; cast it as if 
in anger, once more upon the strand. Yet among 
the bystanders not one foot stirred forward. 

And now, for the first timie in his life perhaps, the 
Vidame forgot himself. He would race the sea for 
its prey. If British blood ran so craven for its kin, 
in his veins ran the quick, the generous spirit of 
France! He would show that canaille, that vileness! 
As he thought he ran. In a mom.ent he had 
reached the prostrate figures. His hand was upon 
one inert, ice-clammy arm. Instantly he was 


36 


THE NINTH WAVE 


knocked down by the returning rush, deafened by 
the roar, blinded with brine and sand; but the 
weight of the three human bodies, interlaced and 
half buried in the yielding sand, overcame the back- 
race. The grasp of the warm hand seemed to have 
revived Sir Hugh’s energies. He struggled to his 
feet, dragging the Frenchman up with him. 

“The fellow is of iron,” thought the bewildered 
Vidame. A few seconds of that sea seemed to have 
dashed the soul out of his own slight frame. He 
had an impulse toward a rabbit-like scuttle back 
into safety, but now it was Courtenay who held 
him. Courtenay made a gesture toward the pros- 
trate body at their feet — green-hued as death it 
lay — a gesture with that grip of chilled fingers 
not to be gainsaid. The Vidame understood. 

He bent to the corpse. W^hat could it be but a 
corpse.^ Stumbling, staggering, with the weight 
between them, the two fought forward, the gen- 
tilhomme Anglais du Roy and Rocourt the elegant! 
If Versailles could see them! For the last time the 
surge boiled about them, but in vain, and with a 
final effort they reached a point of safety. And 
there all three lay, for a while, within a semicircle 
of silent and sullen onlookers — the Vidame on his 
knees, spluttering and bewildered; the unknown 
seafarer with eyes closed, apparently lifeless; Sir 
Hugh Courtenay reclining exhausted on his elbow, 
with head prone, striving for breath, fighting the 
faintness as he had fought the waves. 

After a while he raised his head and cast a sombre 
look about him. And now a new cry, of wonder and 
suppressed excitement passed from mouth to mouth. 


THE VALLEY OF DEATH 


37 


“The Squire! Sir Hugh! Why, ’tis the 
Squire!” The Squire, whom Martin the gardener 
had seen not an hour before at the window in the 
Hall! Sir Hugh among the castaways of the wreck! 
The astonishment was blasting. Instinctively 
every one drew back a pace or more as from some- 
thing uncanny and sinister. 

A few minutes elasped. Sir Hugh, gathering his 
strength again, drew closer to the unknown, peered 
keenly into the face, lifted the closed eyelids, then 
applied his ear to the chest and listened for a long 
while. Then, looking up again, he beckoned to the 
bystanders. Two or three with the instinctive 
habit of obedience advanced nearer. He spoke 
with still feeble but imperious voice: 

“Hark ye! fellows. The man’s alive, but you 
have had no hand in the rescue. So you may rest 
content: it is my work, mine alone, you hear.^ You 
may lend a hand now.” And as once more there 
was a movement of recoil, the master’s voice rang 
louder, menacing: “Take heed, you fools! The 
man’s on land, and if he’s living it is through none 
of your helping. As for the villain who hesitates 
now to do my bidding, let him expect trouble. You, 
Ben Cockington, and you, Bick Penhall, fetch a 
thwart from the boats, and carry this find of mine 
to the Hall. He is all I claim,” he called out con- 
temptuously to the gathered crowd; “all the rest 
of the wreckage upon my beach I leave to you. It 
shall be divided in due course among ye all. Mean- 
while, attend to me, to this gentleman, and to 
him” — pointing to the still insensible man. 

There was some consultation; many shook their 


38 


THE NINTH WAVE 


heads dubiously, but eventually it reached a sat- 
isfactory conclusion. Most of the wreckers dis- 
persed in search of fresh gleanings; others busied 
themselves as they were bidden. Coats were 
thrown over the bare shoulders of the two whom the 
sea had cast up. A small sail was wrapped round 
the dripping and sand-stained garments of the 
French gentleman, and certain rags bound round 
his feet in lieu of the silver-buckled shoes which 
he had lost in his struggle with the claiming waters. 

While this was being done. Sir Hugh, who sat 
watching the process meditatively, addressed his 
shivering guest : 

“Vidame,” he said gravely in French, “I stated 
just now that I alone had saved yonder fellow. I 
owe you an apology there, as well as my thanks. 
But for you, I have little doubt, we should still be 
tossing in that cauldron and by this time we 
should have yielded our ghosts.” 

The bearers were already moving with their 
burden in the direction of the high-perched house 
outlined on the cliff against the blue sky. Sir 
Hugh, flinging an arm about the neck of the surly 
fisherman who bent to help him, and lurching to his 
feet, continued to address the Vidame: 

‘‘It was indeed a lucky thing for me that you 
were present amid these boors!” 

“In the name of Heaven, my dear sir!” cried 
the French gentleman, in a tone of pettish resent- 
ment, as he hobbled along upon swaddled feet. 
“Can you tell me how it is that these canaille, who 
advanced so boldly into the surf to secure some 
trashy piece of wood, never thought of forming a 


THE VALLEY OF DEATH 


39 


chain to go to your aid — you their lord? By the 
name of ten thousand devils, they stood and watched 
a man of quality floundering, without lifting a 
finger! Poaah! The smell of that foam! It will 
never leave my nostrils. Is there enough green 
wood in your copses to break across the dogs 
shoulders?” 

Sir Hugh turned his head and looked at his com- 
panion. 

“Of a truth, Vidame, I and my unknown friend 
yonder ” 

“Oh, devil fly with him!” muttered the French- 
man peevishly, hugging himself in his sheet and 
thrown out of all courteous balance by the irritating 
sense of his own grotesque appearance. 

“Of a truth,” pursued Sir Hugh, unheeding, “I 
should, as I said, have fared badly at the very 
moment of success but for the fortunate presence of 
a gentleman amid these rascals — of one whose 
gallantry defies superstition.” 

The Vidame now shot a look of curiosity at his 
host. 

^ “Superstition? Is there a superstition attached 
to an early sea bath?” 

He tried to laugh, but his teeth were chattering. 
The laughter came out as a rattle. 

“Not to the sea bath,” answered Sir Hugh, “but 
to the rescue of a drowning man.” He paused a 
moment reflectively; then, with a short laugh: 
“In this country,” he said, “men believe that any one 
baffling the sea of its living prey inevitably brings 
evil upon his own head, death within the year, and 
brought about by the very man he has saved! Not 


40 


THE NINTH WAVE 


one of these fellows but would have stood by me 
stoutly in fight, or in any danger but that of the 
sea. Even if they had known me I doubt if a single 
lout among them would have thrown out a helping 
hand!” 

The Vidame’s curiosity had been transient. As 
he picked his way cautiously among the stones in 
his insufficient footgear, his attention was already 
ffagging. His thought reverted to the royal de- 
jeuner at Versailles, and he almost cursed the high 
honour of that day, the result of which had been an 
errand so precarious, fraught with experiences 
savouring so much of madness on all sides. 


Ill 


A FLOTSAM LIFE 

The unknown traveller from the sea had recovered 
consciousness on the application of due restoratives, 
suggested and applied by Mistress Simnel, the 
Squire’s ancient and most benevolent housekeeper. 
In the warmth of a bed, in the shadow and silence 
of a secluded room, he had fallen into profound 
slumber which the frequent visits of the solicitous 
dame could not disturb. 

The Vidame, on his side, consigned to the butler’s 
care as a most honoured guest, comforted with a 
hot wine-posset, had slept a round of the clock, 
as the phrase goes, with not more than a turn or two 
upon his couch. 

Sir Hugh had also spent the day in the solitude 
of a darkened room; but with little rest. When 
the sun had been for some time on the downward 
course, he finally gave up the attempt to find repose. 
He summoned Lorimer, had the shutters flung back, 
allowed himself mechanically to be clothed in the 
suit selected by this worthy — the blue silk coat 
the vest, the laced shirt were still clinging to the 
crags above the cove — and thereafter was shaved, 
still in abstracted silence. Dismissing his servant, 
he sank into an armchair and became lost in a 
reverie. He was weary, aching from many bruises. 


41 


42 


THE NINTH WAVE 


A certain old sword wound stabbed with recurrent 
sharpness. The trend of his thoughts was bitter, 
but it was absorbing, to the exclusion presently 
of all physical sensation. Sir Hugh sat like a man 
in a trance, motionless, with half-closed eyes; sat 
thus a long while. 

A faint smile of satisfaction came at last upon 
the pressed lips; he roused himself from his reclin- 
ing position to bend forward, resting his arms on 
his knees, and contemplated, as it were, with an 
air of triumphant irony, some scene displayed in 
front ofjhim. Then, upon a sudden return of energy, 
he hoisted himself from the chair. He passed into 
the library, and, halting before a large map of 
the western counties of England, which showed 
upon its southern border a portion of the opposite 
coast 'line of France with its fringe of English- 
Norman islands, once more lost himself in contem- 
plation. With the edge of his handkerchief he 
compared distances with the scale of English miles. 
Brixham to St. Malo, ninety odd; Hope’s Nose 
to Cape la Hogue — why, much the same. And 
the Hogue to Cherbourg.^ Not above twenty. 

He pondered again; and the conclusions he came 
to were acceptable. He gave a final look and walked 
out, humming a stave from a pert little song that 
had had a vogue last year among the roues de Ver- 
sailles: 

“Messieurs, messieurs, consolons-nous. 

La femme de Colin revient chez-nous ! ” 

The lilt of it had a flippancy which sat oddly 


A FLOTSAM LIFE 


43 


upon the lips of so grave-looking a man as Sir Hugh 
Courtenay. In the passage he met the housekeeper, 
who carried a covered bowl. 

“Whither, Mrs. Simnel? For the French gentle- 
man.^” 

“No, Sir Hugh. For the man you brought in. 
Sir Hugh. The young monseer is still asleep, 
poor young gentleman! We have heard what he 
did. Sir Hugh; it was Providence sent him here 
last night.” 

“Providence, no doubt, Mrs. Simnel,” said Sir 
Hugh piously. 

“And you, sir? Why, praise Heaven, you seem 
quite recovered! You will be wanting dinner, 
sir. This has been a fearful day’s work to be sure. 
They say there are three bodies washed ashore 
now.” 

“Fearful day, Mrs. Simnel? Why, this will 
have been the best day’s work I have ever done, 
if all goes as I expect ! But, since our man is awake, 
proceed: I follow you.” 

The housekeeper glanced at her master with a 
puzzled air; his words were plain enough, but there 
was something indefinably strange in his voice and 
manner that struck even her unsophisticated mind. 
She obeyed, however, and, in her wake. Sir Hugh 
entered the seafarer’s room. 

The young man was lying on his back; his eyes 
wete open. On the Squire’s entrance he made an 
effort to rise, but desisted on the forbidding gesture 
of his visitor, and fell back. The housekeeper 
deposited her burden and, at a sign from the 
master, silently withdrew. 


44 


THE NINTH WAVE 


The room was still half darkened. Sir Hugh 
went to the window and let in a full light upon the 
bed; then, dragging a chair forward, sat down mute- 
ly. Under the ensuing scrutiny the young man 
grew restless and flushed slightly. His was a face 
of plebeian but pleasant good looks and cast in a 
vigorous mould ; his eyes were bright and wide open, 
and the mouth Arm. Even drawn with exhaustion 
as his features now were, the countenance still 
displayed an air of strong vitality. 

“Sir ” he began in a husky voice; but 

the other cut him short. 

“W^ho are you?” The question was asked with 
the quiet imperiousness of the undoubted superior. 

“Vincent Norton, sir, your servant ... of 
Exeter. Oh, sir, how can I ” 

“Thank me?” again interrupted the Squire. 
“We will discuss that afterward. Do you feel 
strong enough to talk?” 

“Talk ? Why, sir, yes. I would have got up 
but that I have no clothes.” 

“No clothes ? Of course, you have lost all you 
had on board. Was it much? ” 

Pain overcast the young face — a shadow 
creeping under the cloud of a distressing recollec- 
tion. 

“Much? Oh, my God, sir, yes! A fortune! 
Not a fortune,” he corrected himself with defer- 
ence, “for a gentleman like your worship’s honour, 
but for one like me . . . Lord, Lord! Oh, 

my poor Jessie!” 

The fellow had raised himself on his elbow. 
He sank back, and for a moment hid his head on 


A FLOTSAM LIFE 


45 


the pillow, with a suppressed sob. Sir Hugh waited 
a moment, then coldly: 

“Who is Jessie?” he asked. 

“Jessie, my wife. Poor, poor girl! She had 
built so high, too high, sir, upon this stroke of 
fortune. It was happiness — ah, it was too good 
to come to pass! We’re so poor, sir, I could 
not give her much comfort — poor girl — and she 
was ailing The news of the bit of money coming 
to us had raised her strength — she looked like a 
young maid again; we were going to be safe at last, 
so she thought, poor girl!” 

Sir Hugh had grown more sombrely thoughtful 
as he listened, his eyes fixed on the young man’s 
face. 

“I see, my lad, it is of her you think first. Why? ” 

“My wife, your honour.” The words came out 
simply — an apology for his grief. 

“I see — I see,” said the other sardonically, 
but yet with a kind of satisfaction in his tone. 
“I am not a married man: I don’t know. So a 
married man’s first thought is for his wife? Good! 
Good But drink that stuff my housekeeper has 
left for you. Afterward we will on.” 

The young man obeyed, with a vague sense of 
astonishment at his rescuer’s manner — a manner 
compound of cold haughtiness and a masterful 
benevolence, which from the first moment cast a 
spell over him. Sir Hugh waited; took back the 
cup, replaced it on the table, then went on : 

“So you are married, and you are poor? What 
is your trade in life?” 

“An engraver, sir. I had an uncle, a silversmith 


46 


THE NINTH WAVE 


in Dublin, your honour. I was apprenticed to 
him. But when I married and he turned me away, 
I came over with her to England, and I found work 
to do in Exeter for the gentry and the cathedral 
people. But, with a long day’s work, it is but poor 
gain, your honour.” 

"‘But you, engraver — what made you on board 
that sinking ship.^” 

“My uncle died, sir, and we heard he had, after 
all, left me a portion of his stock, so that I might 
set up on my own; but not, said the will, in Dublin, 
where another nephew takes up the old silver 
house.” 

“And you were coming back with the goods, and 
your ship broke, within sight of home almost.^” 

“Ay, sir.” Vincent Norton paused, struggling 
with his distress. Upon a sign of impatience from 
Sir Hugh, he went on, manfully enough: “Yester- 
day we met a coming gale; the wind had veered 
back to the east — the worst sign, so the master 
said. At close of night he gave up the attempt to 
enter the Exe, and turned the brig’s head for Dart- 
mouth, which he thought of making by first light. 
At midnight we lost a mast, and drifted, drifted; 
and at rise of day we struck and began to break. 
The men took the boat. God knows what’s become 
of them! The master stuck to the brig, and I with 
him, thinking, you see, your honour, of the cases 
in the hold — and safer myself, I believed, even in 
a broken ship than in a rowboat on a sea like that! 
At daylight the master started to swim ashore. 
I could not find heart to go then. It must have 
been an hour later when all went to pieces. I 


A FLOTSAM LIFE 


47 


clung to a spar and trusted to drift away to land 
somewhere . . . though if ’tis to see my Jessie 

want, I’d as fain ” 

‘‘Bah, my lad, your silver is lost. But what of 
that.^ Nothing is lost so long as there is life.” 

Norton reared himself on his pillow eagerly. 

“Ay, sir. Indeed and indeed I’m not forgetting 
what we owe to your honour! Oh, when I tell 
her what a stranger, a great gentleman — to risk 
your honour’s life! And to think that such as 
we can do nothing, nothing to show our gratitude! 
We are only simple folk, and poor.” 

“Do not futher distress yourself, my friend, on 
account of your poverty,” said Sir Hugh with an 
enigmatic smile. “There are many things a man 
may do if he really wishes to make a return for 
benefits received; many things which neither poverty 
nor humble station need interfere with.” 

The flush deepened on the young man’s face. 

“Is there, truly, any work I can do ^ — oh, not 
in return, that would be impossible, your honour! 
— but to prove my thanks.^ There is nothing I 
would not attempt ” 

But Sir Hugh, without answering, went on sol- 
emnly : 

“Do you quite understand, Norton, that but for 
what I chose to risk this day you would, as sure 
as we two are here, be at this moment a livid corpse?’ 

“I do indeed, sir,” the youth said in a low voice. 

“Your wife,” went on the Squire, “now a widow, 
delicate, I understand, without resources.” He 
paused, but Norton’s lips only quivered upon the 
words he could not pronounce. “What, perhaps, 


48 


THE NINTH WAVE 


you do not know,” proceeded Sir Hugh, “is that 
no one else on this coast could have been found to 
help you out of the sea. You^are not of these 
parts, or you would understand.” 

The other began to feel bewildered. It did not 
seem to him, who was so ready with whole-hearted 
thankfulness, that it should be necessary to insist 
so sternly on the facts. 

“Indeed, your honour,” he stammiered, “I feel 
it — I feel it! Your honour did stake your 
life . . . and if ever I could stake mine. . . 

for your worship’s service ” 

“You would do so. Well, Mr. Norton” — Sir 
Hugh rose and stood towering at the foot of the 
bed — “yours was a flotsam life, I may say — if 
you know what that means. Flotsam is what has 
been cast out of a ship into the sea, in despair of 
bringing it safely to harbour. If it is thrown up 
upon the shore, flotsam belongs to whomsoever 
secures it. At least, if it is not law, it is the custom 
on these shores. And another custom in these 
parts is to let drowning m.en in the sea remain in 
the sea; it is held to be more wholesome for those 
on the shore! Your life, therefore, my lad, in a 
way belongs to me. I could fairly claim it. I 
prefer, however, to accept your free offer to service. 
W^hat would you do for the man who saved you 
from the reefs — nay, never mind that — I will say 
for the man to whom your Jessie owes it to be still 
a wife.^ Tell me that.” 

Something very close to terror had taken hold 
of the listener. His nerve, weakened by his recent 
appalling experience, was not proof against a 


A FLOTSAM LIFE 


49 


creeping, superstitious fear. His noble recuer, to 
whom his heart had from the first leaped, in whose 
house, up to this moment, he had found nothing but 
charity, spoke and looked in such singular fashion- 
nay, seemed to be driving him toward some dread 
compact. Drawing instinctively back in the bed, 
wide-eyed, and a little breathless, he answered: 

“Do, sir.^ Why — anything you desired. Any- 
thing in my power.” 

Sir Hugh perceived that, for his purpose, he was 
perhaps proceeding on faulty lines. He forced 
himself into something like geniality. 

“Cone, come, my man,” he resumed, sitting 
down again, “there is no call to look so scared. 
I will ask nothing absolutely terrible of you. Though 
there may be a risk, it is trifling — a mere nothing 
to what I accepted this morning on behalf of a 
stranger. The fact is, Norton, that I am in need of 
service — service within a very few days. And 
what I demand in exchange for the life I have given 
you — a long one may it be, Norton! and, further, 
for a prosperous start on it if you act faithfully 
and are successful — is but a week or two out of 
that life. Perhaps much less I ask you, there- 
fore, are you prepared to devote to my service that 
small slice of existence during which you will carry 
out implicitly, without questioning, everything 
and anything that I may order .^” 

He had bent forward, laying a claiming hand 
upon the bed, peering keenly. There was a silence. 
The young man had grown pale; in a low, husky 
voice, he faltered : 

“I cannot do murder, sir.” 


50 


THE NINTH WAVE 


The Squire echoed the word with so quivering 
a frown that the room seemed to grow dark. Then 
he gave a harsh laugh : 

‘‘Murder/’ he repeated to himself. “That would 
truly be disaster to my purpose!” Then, fixing the 
poor engraver with a gaze of immeasurable haughti- 
ness: “Look at me, fellow!” he said. “Ami 
likely, think you, to deal with hired murderers.^ 
There is no question of murder, Mr. Norton. You 
have my word for that as a gentleman. Let it 
suffice.” Sir Hugh resumed his discourse with an 
air of quiet dignity. “There is a question only 
of obedience, of intelligent zeal, and some courage. 
I believe you have the intelligence and the courage. 
If I have your devotion I have all I need and all 
you can give me.” 

The young man wiped his damp forehead. 

“Oh, sir, I ask your pardon! Your honour 
must forgive me. I am but a fellow. I only wish 
I could do more!” 

“What I will ask of you will suffice,” said the 
Squire, raising his hand to stop further asseveration. 
“Are you a religious man, Mr. Norton.^” 

“Faith, I am sir. I never missed my duties 
all through my life, if I could help it.” 

This was said with an alacrity which carried 
conviction. The master of Anstiss Hall smiled. 

“Vastly w^ell,” he said. “Then you understand 
the nature of an oath over the Bo:k.^” So saying 
he rose, turned over some volumes on a shelf, and 
came back to the bed with one in his hand. “Here 
is a Testament, my lad. What you swear upon 
such a book to do faithfully can never bring aught 


A FLOTSAM LIFE 


51 


but benefits. Swear without reservation that you 
will work in my service until I dismiss you; truly, 
ungrudgingly, unquestioningly, to the best of your 
courage and ability — and so help you God, as He 
has already done this day!” 

With full earnestness the young man repeated 
the oath, put his lips to the Book. He brought 
all the more alacrity to his obedience that every 
moment the shame of his extraordinary suspicion 
of his rescuer increased upon him. 

“Whenever you command me, sir, I am ready. 
I would ask but leave to go and kiss my poor 
Jessie, and tell her ” 

“Kissing your poor Jessie again, my man, will 
be part of your reward; you have to earn it first. 
Never look so crestfallen; you will not have long to 
wait, if all goes as I desire. You may write — to- 
day — now, in fact. I shall dispatch a messenger 
at once.” 

In the young husband’s eye a dimness had arisen, 
but he answered, firmly enough: 

“Very well, your honour.” 

Sir Hugh went on: 

“And, to soften her disappointment, as well as 
to give you an earnest of what I mean to do, that 
is, as I said, to start you in life (if you succeed on 
my errand by and by), you will send her a small 
parcel of guineas, which I shall confide to the 
messenger.” As he spoke, he had brought forward 
an excritoire. “Shall I say fifty I see you 
think fifty would be accept ble.” This with a 
glance at the hearer’s suffused countenance. “Vast- 
ly well. Then write.” He tried the nib of a quill 


52 


THE NINTH WAVE 


on his thumb-nail, and handed it: “No date, or 
place, or time. Stay — I shall dictate. Write: 

“‘My dear Jessie, (or whatever may be the 
the way of addressing between yourselves), 
‘ I may not be able to return to you for 
some time. I do not now how long. Perhaps 
it will be only a few days. The ship has gone 
down, and all our goods in it. But, by Hea- 
ven’s help, I have scaped unhurt. For rea- 
sons which I shall relate only when we meet 
again, dear Jessie, (is that right.^ Yes? Go 
on:) ‘I may not tell you where I am; but be 
assured that I am safe nd sound, and (think 
of it, Jessie!) that I am like to get back the 
value of what we have lost in the wreck. But 
I have work to do for this same boon. To 
help you till my return (God willing) I send 
you by the hand of the m^essenger who brings 
you this, fifty guineas, in token of what we 
may yet receive for my work. Your loving 
I husband.” 

“You may write,” added the Squire, "‘any other 
endearment, but of course I must read over the 
screed before it goes.” 

When the letter — in the young engraver’s 
copperplate hand, so strangely composed, yet not 
so unlike in the reading to anything which he 
would have penned from his own head — was 
completed, signed, and sealed with one of Sir Hugh’s 
French seals, the latter took it up and rang a bell. 
On the servant’s appearance, he gave the order: 


A FLOTSAM LIFE 


53 


“Warn cstler Jack that I am sendirg him to 
Exeter. Let him saddle Sunshine and attend 
me below as soon as he is ready.” 

When they were once more alone, he turned to 
the bed, and, with a solemnity that again seemed 
to cast a spell over the young artisan: 

“Your service, Norton, has begun. See that you 
carry it throughout faithfully; I have your oath 
warrant for your obedience. By this time to- 
morr w you will, I trust, receive news that your 
wife has had your letter. But you are, on no pre- 
tence whatsoever, to make any attempt to com- 
municate further with tier. Indeed, I enjoin upon 
you not to speak one word of what has passed be- 
tween us in this room to any one in this house or 
out of it. And now your business is to get your 
strength back. In a couple of days I may have 
to send you travelling again.” He was turning 
to leave, when he stopped and wheeled round. 
“Hold! I was forgetting. I made you mention a 
certain promise in writing, just now. That stock 
of silverware which is rolling at the bottom of the 
sea, where you were so like to remain yourself, 
what was it worth Speak truth, man.” 

The colour mounted to Norton’s cheek. The 
magnitude of the sum, in his eyes, seemed to make 
truth sound like some opportune exaggeration. 
But truth he spoke: 

“It was estimated in the will at eight hundred 
pounds.” 

Sir Hugh gave a slight start, but it was with per- 
fect indifference that he went on: 

“Well, Norton, so be it. I have passed my word 


54 


THE NINTH WAVE 


in your letter. It is a fair sum for one in your 
station, but you may yet earn it.” 

On these words, he left the room. Norton, 
tired out and giddy with the twirl of events about 
him, sank back, but the prospect in the near future 
was too golden not to prove soothing, even in the 
midst of so much that was doubtful and mysterious. 
He thought, too, of all that the fifty guineas would 
procure for Jessie. Sleep came upon him pleasantly. 

As Sir Hugh walked down the stairs, he stopped 
for a reflective moment. 

“Eight hundred pounds, gadzooks!” But, pre- 
sent y, with a dry laugh and shrugging his shoulders 
in right French style: “Bah!” he said to himself. 
“I have gained or lost two thousand pistoles, and 
with less interest in the game, at the King’s table in 
Versailles! Ah, Monsier de Courtenay — • nous allons 
Men voir! We shall see, this time — we shall see!” 

In this satisfactory mood he went on his way, 
balancing Norton’s letter in his hand, to prepare 
in secure fashion the parcel of guineas for Jessie in 
Exeter; to write a brief note of his own which was 
to be left at a certain address in Teignmouth on 
the way; nd to deliver in person exact instructions 
to ostler Jack. 


1 

4 


■ IV. 

HATE AT FIRST SIGHT. 

M. de Rocourt appeared at dinner-time refreshed 
in body (although showing some symptoms of a 
cold in the head), point device in attire in spite of 
the early morning catastrophes. The two gentle- 
men met at table with much the same easy courtli- 
ness and diplomatic affability as on the previous 
night. The conversation during the meal, and 
later on, over the resumed game of piquet, glided 
gracefully upon every topic except that one which 
was closest not only to the Frenchman’s mind, 
but now also in an equal degree to that of his En- 
glish host. 

The talk ran desultorily, while each was waiting 
for an opening to resume the interrupted discussion 
of the previous night. The neighbourhood was 
passed in review. There were one or two gentle- 
men, ‘‘of the right cockade,” who must be informed 
on the morrow of their rare good fortune in having 
at hand some one to speak to them of Versailles 
and the things of gay France. Guests, these, who 
would pledge him in delicate claret. None of your 
Whiggish wines of Portugal for them! The excel- 
lence of French vintages introduced another topic, 
that of the regular smuggling traffic between the 
two coasts ~ a traffic, it was pointed out, which the 


55 


56 


THE NINTH WAVE 


French King’s officers actually encouraged and 
which, since the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, was now 
carried out almost without repression on the 
English side, though still, of course, with some 
secrecy. 

They had adjourned to the card table in the 
library. Sir Hugh glanced at the clock; his mes- 
senger must by this time have executed his com- 
mission at Exeter. 

And indeed, at that very moment, ostler Jack 
was dismounting in a side street within the cathe- 
dral precincts, in front of a small, neat house with 
overhanging upper story, and knocking at the 
door between those windows where, by day, samples 
of the engraver’s art w^ere attractively displayed. 
A young woman appeared on the threshold, with 
wide blue eyes of inquiry and a shadow of anxiety 
on her pale face. She took the letter, recognized the 
hand with a little cry of joy, then received the par- 
cel, which was singularly heavy for its diminutive 
size, and examined the unknowm seals with a puzzled 
air. When she looked up again to ask her questions, 
ostler Jack, a man who could be trusted to carry 
out orders to the smallest detail, was already back 
in the saddle. He saluted the pretty woman with 
an engaging grin, turned his horse round, and 
trotted away down the narrow street and out of 
sight without having spoken a single word. 

“And, by the way, Vidame,” went on Sir Hugh, 
“I may very likely have the visit, this very night, 
of one of these same free-trading gentry. My man 


HATE AT FIRST SIGHT 


57 


left a message to-day at Teignmouth, where dwells 
a certain boat-builder, a prosperous personage, 
excellent citizen, highly respected in the town — 
withal one of the most sagacious master smugglers 
on the coast. A man of trust, when he knows with 
whom he is dealing. I have busines of my own 
with him. But you, too, it occurs to me, might care 
to see him.” 

‘‘What — not to deal for claret.^” said the Vi- 
dame, laughing. 

“No, but for comfort in travel. When the day 
comes — which I trust may be a long way off yet 
— that you can no longer endure this exile, he could 
provide a passage for you in a swi t, well-found 
schooner, and take y u toward Paris by way of 
Cherbourg; ’tis a shorter route than by St. Malo.” 

The Vidame shot a quick look over the edge of 
his cards. It seemed to him that his host had 
had a singular intonation; something in his 
voice almost 1 ke a sigh as he had spoken the word 
“Paris.” 

'' Parbleu — is it possible,” he thought, “that 
we are back at last at the point where we broke off 
yesternight? Let us see.” He heaved a sigh him- 
self; deep, unconcealed, full of feeling. “Alas! my 
dear Sir Hugh, that day must of necessity be near. 
In verity, it ought to be to-morrow! The King, 
or, rather, Madame de Mailleville, expects a prompt 
return on my part. Ah! that journey back, which, 
in my simplicity, I had pictured to myself as per- 
formed in your agreeable company, it will be dismal 
indeed! Signal failure in a task which I believed 
was to be a mere matter of form . . . Madame 


58 


THE NINTH WAVE 


de Mailleville displeased , . . the King af- 

fronted and unforgiving — most naturally ! And 
all laid to my charge! For how explain, to any 
sane person— forgive me, my dear host, but I 
must insist — how explain to any sane person that 
there can persist between any two men, leaving 
the question of brotherhood alone, such an un- 
quenchable hatred that even a King’s desire, and 
a King’s favour, weigh not as much as a feather 
in the balance?” 

While listening to this new, if disguised, appeal, 
the Englishman had gradually assumed a look of 
mental hesitation and embarrassment; the look a 
man might wear who is anxious to retire from ^ 
false position. 

"‘I fear,” he began, with less than his natural 
assurance of manner, “I gave way last night to a 
fit of humour. I believe it was caused by hearing 
so unexpectedly of M. de Courtenay’s marriage — 
or was it a realization that he had left the court, 
and that by a little pliancy on my part, by mere 
waiting, I might in a short time have found myself 
without a company obnoxious to me? I don’t 
know. Certain, it was a splenetic fit — which this 
morning’s hard work seems to have dissipated. 
But, in any case, it seems to have created an erro- 
neous impression in your mind — one which, to say 
the truth, I am anxious to remove. Hatred? Dear 
Vidame, I do assure you, as I look into my feelings 
now, I find no hatred. A dislike — a very partic- 
ular’dislike — to a double, to a very copy, of myself 
always confronting me and making me feel posi- 
tively ridiculous in my own eyes! There is no need 


59 


HATE AT FIRST SIGHT 


to tell one of your court experience that, when a 
gentleman dislikes another of his own station, he 
can but relieve his feelings by help of his blade. 
Now, if people had not always insisted on that other 
exasperating fact that this man I happened to 
dislike was my brother, as they called him, this 
accusation of hatred a propos of mere affairs of 
delicacy between men of honour would not have 
been raised. I for one do not recognize M. de 
Courtenay as a brother. I look upon him as a 
person whom I have ever found inconveniently in 
my way. Nothing more.” 

As Sir Hugh made these statements he avoided 
looking at his guest, and toyed with his cards, in 
a manner singularly at variance with his usual easy 
or masterful bearing. His face was flushed. The 
extraordinary fatigue of the day had warranted, 
well warranted, that extra bottle of claret. But 
the Vidame shrewdly observed that his host had 
never been in less good case to bear this deepening 
of his potations. 

‘‘Not hatred!” The Vidame remembered full 
well the countenance that had faced him the pre- 
vious night. Then were real feelings heralded on 
hard lips and sombre eyes. But to-night other 
sentiments were evidently at work. Self-interest 
can be as strong a passion as hatred. The Vidame 
understood that. “Paris was well worth a Mass,” 
had said Henri Quatre. Versailles would be worth 
a reconciliation. Sir Hugh was doubtless thinking 
now, though it were as hollow and perfunctory a 
reconciliation as two enemies had ever been forced 
to seal. And Sir Hugh was just a little off his bal- 


60 


THE NINTH WAVE 


ance, just a trifle out of his usual iron self-control. 
A man in this m od will be loquacious. The Vi- 
dame was inquisitive, but he was wily; he scarcely 
dared breathe a word lest he arrest the desired 
confidences. After a moment, Sir Hugh went on: 

“I believe, Vidame, that no one knows the cir- 
cumstances that brought Sir Hugh Courtenay, of 
Anstiss Hall, in the County of Devon, and M. de 
Courtenay, Seigneur de Brieux, in the Cotentin, on 
the opposite coast, to do service together by the 
King’s person. We are, as you made a point of 
insisting, the sons of the same father — and that 
father. Sir Percy, a thoroughbred Englishman. 
Yet M. de Courtenay is nothing, as you know, if 
not a gallant countryman of yours. (You see, sir, 
I heartily take back my ill-mannered impeachment 
of last night!) I, on the other hand . . . well, 

much as I yearn for the life of your fair France, I 
belong, all said and done, essentially to this soil.” 

“A curious situation,” said Rocourt politely. “But 
all about you beaux Courtenays was ever a point 
of interest. This marvellous likeness in body, and 
with it the well-known difference of temper ” 

“Perhaps may be explained. Sir Percy married 
twice. My mother, a rich heiress of this county 
(all this property in Devon came from her — my 
father’s family is from the North), died soon after 
I was born. That was some thirty-four years or 
more ago. In that year, the ’15 as we are in the 
habit of calling it in this country — a bad time for 
the Tory gentry — there was an unfortunate 
political affair, which resulted in wholesale pro- 
scription and confiscation. My father was among 


HATE AT FIRST SIGHT 


61 


those who passed abroad. Most of his property 
was forfeited. My mother’s estates, happily for me, 
remained untouched: her family was not implicated. 
And so, my father being abroad, I was brought 
up by aunts and uncles as guardians, inured to 
country and sea life, familiar with the rocks and 
waters as any seal. Six months after his expatria- 
tion my father married again; and again an heiress, 
but French this time. From that union came the 
present M. de Courtenay. The Courtenays are a 
strong race, it would seem,” said Sir Hugh with a 
laugh — ‘'or, at least, my father must have been 
a man of forceful personality, for both these sons 
of his, by women so different, grew as like him as 
it is possible for youth to be like middle years — 
and more closely like each other than I would be- 
lieve any twins in history ! Thereby hung the 
mischief.”' ^ 

“An ordinary man might think that it should 
have drawn them together,” put in the Vidame 
insinuatingly. “But, well.^” 

“Well, it did not,” rejoined Sir Hugh dryly. 
“But to finish with this subject: the situation was, 
as you have said, curious. Until I was fifteen years 
old my father had never seen me. Through his 
French marriage and the amity of some high per- 
sonages he had become, as you say over there, 
tres hien en cour. From the first days of his exile 
he had claimed the old Norman form of the family 
name — that is Courtenay; and later the King, 
who held him in esteem, revived for him the old 
title. Both the name and the title devolved natur- 
ally to his French son, Andre. One fine day, there 


62 


THE NINTH WAVE 


being at the time what seemed likely to be lasting 
peace between the countries, my father bethought 
himself to send for his English son. I was to be 
put to school at the College Noble de Beauvais. 
And my father set eyes on his eldest boy the first 
time since he had beheld him in long clothes! His 
first greeting was a loud burst of laughter! He 
declared the joke phenomenal. I also found the 
matter phenomenal, when, a few days later, I was 
brought face to face with my — with my father’s 
other son, who had been sent for posthaste from 
distant Cotentin. But I, certes, saw no jest in 
it. Account for the case as you will, my dear 
Vidame, it was like a blow. I felt it like one. I 
resented it like one. Think of it! There stood, 
the same in every line and colour, the image I was 
accustomed to watch daily in my mirror, the 
living copy of myself in other flesh and blood ! 
The sensation was incredible, and it was odious! 
The boy greeted me in French, a language I did 
not yet know, but in my own voice. And I, voice- 
lessly, cursed him! He braced me heartily. 1 
could feel the vigour of a strong young frame even 
as mine; and in my sudden anger I could have 
strangled him even as he kissed my cheek! 

“My father laughed more than ever when he 
saw us side by side. There was pride and delight 
in his laugh — especially pride, I now conceive. 
But, in me, his laughter raised a sort of dumb rage. 
My strange behaviour on that day was put down 
to English awkwardness, to outlandish bringing 
up; to anything but the truth. And indeed, how 
could any one guess at such a feeling.^ How could 


HATE AT FIRST SIGHT 


63 


I myself ever explain it? It became the main effort 
of my life to conceal so inexplicable a repulsion. 
When we were still youths, my father had obtained 
for us both to serve a spell among the Blue Pages. 
The two pretty boys had given rise to a proverb, 
and that proverb maddened me! My choked-down 
fury was like some haunting disease which a man 
must keep secret for very life and bear with a serene 
face. But I will not dilate . . . My father 

died. Life had suddenly assumed an aspect of 
unexpected brilliancy, for, young as I was, the 
King offered me the vacancy in the Gens (TArmes, 
It was|a great mark of favour to the name of Courte- 
nay. Conceive my feelings when scarce had I 
had time to taste my triumph ere his Majesty con- 
ceived the idea of extending the favour to my father’s 
other son! The day when I heard, as a felicitation, 
forsooth, that there were to be two Courtenays 
aux Gens (TArmes, I would have resigned my 
honours were it not that to cast away the King’s 
preferment would have spelt ruin for all my pros- 
pects. And life was good ... in those years! 

“My stepbrother returned to court; my double, 
the other beau Courtenay, the sore in my flesh, 
the thorn in my side! Surely it is needless to 
explain. Those things cannot well be put in words. 
I had lost my personality. We were interchange- 
able in people’s thoughts; with this difference, per- 
haps, that he ever seemed to be reaping what I had 
sown ! 

“I would, as I said, have craved his Majesty’s 
leave to return to my English estate. But some- 
thing meanwhile had begun to wrap itself close 


64 


THE NINTH WAVE 


round my life which would have made departure 
more than I could face. And in this great thing 
something quite new to me, who up to then had 
been but a man a bonnes fortunes, a roue if you will 
among lesser rips — in this supreme matter, I say, 
the curse of Fate would make it that this living 
shadow of me, this solid reflection of myself, must, 
even as he had hitherto in trifles, rise between me 
and the light, and again seem like to reap where 
I ” 

All pretence at playing out the game of piquet 
had, by tacit accord, been abandoned. The Vi- 
dame reclined back in his chair, a smile full of amen- 
ity on his lips. Sir Hugh had his elbow on the 
table, resting his square jaw on his hand. As he 
delivered himself of his recital, he had by degrees 
lost his easily assumed lightness of manner. There 
had risen something like a suppressed roar at the 
back of his voice. He suddenly became aware of 
it and made a snatch at his self-possession. 

“But, my friend,” he resumed with a laugh, 
“I cannot, in loyalty, give any private person like 
yourself the details of an affair which I have felt 
bound to refuse to your sovereign — it would scarce 
be fitting!” 

The Vidame had more than a shrewd guess as 
to the nature of the affair, but he contented himself 
with making a grave bow, in courtly acquiescence 
with so essentially correct a procedure. 

“You will observe,” the speaker went on, “that 
a clash was inevitable. A real injury, whatever it 
might be, supervening after so long a spell of an- 
tipathy and pent up irritation, was bound to pro- 


HATE AT FIRST SIGHT 


65 


voke an open rupture. It came, as you know, and 
it has resulted in my exile.” 

“But not necessarily in a permanent one, my 
dear host,” said the Vidame, passing through the 
offered loophole with prompt decision. “Let me 
present you a much aTeied aspect of the situation. 
And let me not, I entreat,” he went on, meltingly, 
“return to the King, my master, empty-handed! 
Think of your reception at the petit lever of Madame 
de Mailleville, when you come back (as she knows) 
to her desire! Think — but why think of anything 
but this: except for the brief interview which I 
trust I n:ay have to repoiM: to royal ears, think 
only that you, in all probability, will never set eyes 
a second time upon M. de Courtenay. He is 
wedded not only to a wife but to a quiet existence 
on his estate. From what I heard from his own 
m.outh, he has little desire to return to the court.” 

There was a pause, during which Sir Hugh 
appeared to struggle with some elusive thought; 
to hesitate between the new allurement and the old 
bitterness. At last he allowed himself to break 
into a smile: 

“You have a persuasive tongue, Vidame. A 
better courier could not have been found. To 
the devils with the cards!” he suddenly exclaimed. 
“To-night — let us drink!” 

He rose, and filled glasses. Then, with more 
emphasis perhaps than was called for, he called out 
the toast: 

“Let us drink to Paris, to Versailles! To beauty 
and joyousness, and light hearts! I have been a 
fool. I will not be one again. A new spirit is in 


66 


THE NINTH WAVE 


me: spirit of reason. There is nothing true in life 
but pleasure — pleasure and honour ! But as 
you said, honour should be satisfied between broth- 
ers, by two meetings — the game and the revanche. 
Where has been my head all this while? . 
Conceive it, Vidame, last night, the uppermost 
thought in me actually was to induce you to carry 
back yet another challenge to — to my brother!” 

“Trust me,” put in the Vidame, laughing, “for 
once in my life I should have declined the honour. 
That would, palsamhleu, indeed have ended M. de 
Rocourt’s career!” 

“Your errand shall be more suitable to your 
merits, Vidame. You told me the text of the 
King’s order, and the conditions, last night. As 
for the rest, I trust your tact and sagaciousness to 
devise means of making this submission easy.” 
And then, as on a sudden thought: “I could not 
do it within sight of hearing of Madame de Courte- 
nay ... I could not! Understand, the only 
thing that could take place under the lady’s eyes 
would be a duel. She therefore must not be there. 

. You will insist on that.” 

The Vidame was not full of elation. The hard- 
ships of his sea travel, the misadventures of the 
morning, had not, then, been wasted! But who 
could have foreseen so sudden a reversal of senti- 
ment? “Self-interest is indeed a powerful ally,” 
thought the Frenchman, with a mocking mind. 
But he struck the hot iron. 

“It shall, of course, be as you elect. Where, 
how, and when you choose. M. de Courtenay, I 
must say, when I expressed my hopes of what 


HATE AT FIRST SIGHT 


67 


— Heaven be praised! — is, after all, going to take 
place, he did not seem to put much faith in their 
realization. But he assured me that no obstacle 
would ever be raised on his side.” 

“It cannot be here,” said Sir Hugh, pondering. 
“Twice since my return (I may as well own it) 
have I sent him written word that, if I was debarred 
from seeking him in France, he at least knew where 
to find me: and as I pointed out, in these peace days, 
nothing easier. To ask him again to cross the water 
might seem som.ething of a renewed if covert chal- 
lenge. Besides, my dear sir, it would cause you to 
undertake two extra sea passages, which, certes, 
ought to be spared you!” He broke off with a jerk 
of the head. “Hark! And here, it would seem, 
comes our man!” 

“Our man?” asked the Vidame, with a start. 

“I mean, Vidame, I only m.ean our mariner that 
is to be: the master smuggler I was telling of.” 

From the outside night a prolonged whistle had 
penetrated into the room. It was now repeated, 
nearer; a lengthened, undulating sound that seemed 
to be passing round the house. 

“Yes,” said Sir Hugh, “that is our fellow. A 
customary arrangement,” he explained, “with these 
gentry w" :en business is forward, to ascertain 
whether the coast is clear. I must let him know 
that there is nought to fear.” He threw open the 
window and answered the signal with three -claps 
of the hand. Instantly the whistling ceased. “On 
these discreet occasions,” added Sir Hugh, “I make 
it a practice to let in the visitors myself and by a 
side door. Give me your leave for a few moments.” 


68 


THE NINTH WAVE 


The Vidame, left alone, sank into a state of 
musing. This Englishman’s changeable moods 
were puzzling. There seemed, however, to be no 
doubt that counsels of sanity, on the whole, were 
now to prevail: and that, before many days, the 
formal repudiation of the feud would in all proba- 
bility take place; after which all M. de Rocourt’s 
interest in the matter, save that of curiosity, would 
lapse. 

In a short while Sir Hugh returned, accompanied 
by the nocturnal visitor. 

This was a short, broad-shouldered man, whose 
red and wrinkled face proclaimed nothing sooner 
than a genial temper and a happy taste for convivi- 
ality. His dress of decent, sober-hued broadcloth, 
his manner and fair, smooth speech, suggested the 
prosperous tradesman, the probable church warden. 
There was indeed little about him, except the keen 
eye and the weather-beaten skin, to herald a sea- 
faring life; and nothing to point in any way to the 
smuggler — a generation associated in the popular 
mind with a ruthless, hard, uncompromising, and 
often sanguinary disposition. 

On entering he made a bow, and displayed an 
ingratiating countenance to the Vidame; accepted 
the glass of Nantes which the Squire filled for him, 
and tossed it appreciatively down his throat. 

‘‘As I was telling you, Mr. Purkiss,” said Sir 
Hugh, seating himself and continuing apparently 
a conversation begun at the garden door, “this is 
not the usual business.” 

“I am sorry for that. Sir Hugh; I am about to 
deal with some special barrels of Anjou wines, and 


HATE AT FmST SIGHT 


69 


also a rare little lot of brandy kegs from Armagnac. 
But perhaps you will think it over; or, again, speak 
of it to the gentlemen.” 

“No doubt, Mr. Purkiss. Meanwhile, I have 
at hand something more pressing, which you will, 
I am sure, find in the end as good business. This 
French gentleman requires to be landed at Cape 
la Hogue. You know that coast, I believe.^” 

“Oh, yes, I may say that I know that coast. 
Sir Hugh.” The man seemed to see son»e humour 
in the statement, and smiled agreeably as he made 
a leg in the direction of the Vidame. “I may say 
I know that coast,” he repeated. 

“Then, when you have carried him there, I, 
i y turn, may require to be taken to Cherbourg 
and brought back here. Now it would be a special 
convenience, should the weather permit it, to em- 
bark from and return straight to Anstiss Cove, 
and not by way of Teignmouth or Dartmouth.” 

“Well, Sir Hugh, I believe it is possible to land 
in Anstiss Cove,” returned the free-trading master, 
with a merry look in his eyes that again proclaimed 
a humorous inner thought. “I really believe it is 
possible to do it, even on a moonless night, given 
that the sea’s not up. ’ 

“Very well, then, Mr. Purkiss, what would you 
say now to niy chartering your fastest boat.^ The 
Phoebe, I believe she is calle . Is she on this 
side?” 

'"Phoebe is her name. Sir Hugh, and she lies at 
Te’gnmouth. As to the chartering, why ” 

“Listen! It will only be for a few days; two or 
three journeys acrcss. No risk, no trouble; only 


70 


THE NINTH WAVE 


passengers who are in haste. As for the price, you 
shall fix it yourself, for each crossing, at the figure 
of the profit ou look to make on the best cargo 
landed. But sit down, Mr. Purkiss; pray fill your 
glass again and make out the sum, while I explain 
matters to this gentleman.” 

Sir Hugh now turned to the Vidame, who, for 
all his attentive listenin , had obviously been 
unable to take in more than the bare meaning of an 
occasional word. 

“My dear M. de Rocurt, with your assentiment, 
I would propose some such course of procedure 
as the following: This excellent seaman can take 
you straight from this shore to the very beach below 
the Chateau de Brieux. Thus you can be spared 
some useless and fatiguing travel. You would then 
convey to M. de Courtenay a message from me which 
no doubt may astonish him considerably, but (I 
have your warrant for it) will not displease him. 
It would be a proposal that he and I should meet, 
in your presence, at some convenient place. And, 
in my opinion, the most convenient place would 
undoubtedly be Cherbourg, which is within easy 
reach of La Hogue and on your way back to Paris. 
Then, if M. de Courtenay agrees, my dear ambassa- 
dor, I would beg you to do me the good office to 
send back word by the returning vessel of the date 
which it would please him to appoint for the little 
ceremonial in obedience to the orders of the King. 
I should entreat him, however, to make the date 
as early as possible, in respect of the fact that I 
must until then keep this worthy free-trader’s 
vessel in attendance, and that each day’s delay 


HATE AT FIRST SIGHT 


71 


means of necessity considerable expense. But, 
before I close the compact with yonder master, 
I must hear from you (with a sadness, be it said!) 
the day which you have been pleased to decide upon 
for your return journey.” 

“My dear host,” said the Vidame, with his en- 
gaging simper, “this is, as I said on my arrival at 
your hospitable door. King’s service. Therefore 
the briefest delay.” 

“I ap reciate the motive,” returned the Squire, 
with some alacrity. “Shall we say the morning 
after to-morrow, then, at an early hour?” 

He turned once more to the master of the Phoebe, 
who was smacking his lips complacently over a 
second cup of the amber spirit. 

“Ah,” remarked the latter, “I think I could alm.ost 
tell when you had this particular stuff. Sir Hugh! 
I don’t believe the King — God bless him! — has 
anv better, if as good; I don’t, indeed, believe it.” 

With a benevolent, almost paternal, smile, he 
handed a slip of paper upon which, during the 
French intercourse, he had jotted down certain 
figures. The Squire glanced at it, nodded in ac- 
quiescence, and negligently pocketed the document. 
“This gentleman,” he said in English, “wishes to 
leave the day after next. I look, therefore, to your 
bringing the Phoebe round to wait for him in the 
offing of Tower Stone at sunrise. And it is under- 
stood I have your best service, Mr. Purkiss, on your 
own terms, from day to day, until further notice. 
Ah! One word more,” he went on, as the master 
rose to take his departure. “You have whole 
day before you. Pray see that the cabin be fitted. 


n 


THE NINTH WAVE 


if possible, with all such comforts as may be required 
by persons of quality. The gentlemen of the French 
court,” he explained, with a smiling nod toward 
the listening but uncomprehending Vidame, “as 
much as any fine lady, love neatness and cleanliness, 
and seclusion from prying eyes. I believe you take 
my meaning.^” 

The master smuggler had a pleasant and indulgent 
smile. 

“I take your meaning, Sir Hugh. I shall see 
to it myself sir,” he said; and, escorted by the 
Squire, departed by the way of his entrance. 

“M. de Rocourt,” said Sir Hugh, with great show 
of satisfaction, as he re-entered the library a few 
minutes later, “everything is arranged. We may 
now, for the too short time when it will be my priv- 
ilege to have you under my roof, dismiss a subject 
— and I feel the guilt of it — which must have 
been a weariness to your patience. We have, so to 
speak, settled between us the protocol of this 
delicate affair, and I, on my side, have shaped its 
course in all material details — and the issue of 
it is on the lap of Fate. Meanwhile, there is — 
what say you.^ — nothing more for us to do than to 
resume this much interrupted game of piquet.” 

As the Vidame took up the cards again he was 
marvelling at the manner in which his host seemed 
to have got rid all at once of the fumes of his wine 
and of the passion it had engendered. 


I 


“alea jACTA,” 

“ Norton/’ said Sir Hugh genially, as the young 
man stood before him the next morning in the library, 
“I have sent for you to tell you pleasant news. It 
may be even a shorter time than I thought before 
you be free to fly back to the arms of your Jessie. 
Four days, perhaps three. Admit, my friend, that 
it will not be too high a price to pay for a new lease 
of life! What say you.^ By the way, it seems 
that all is well with her; my messenger has returned. 
She has your letter and your little present.” 

Norton advanced a step nearer, his face illumined. 
He was a pleasant-looking youth. And, dressed 
as he now was in a travelling suit of plain dark cloth, 
from Sir Hugh’s cast-off wardrobe, albeit it fitted 
him somewhat loosely, with fine shirt, black thread 
stockings, and buckle shoes, he showed a comely 
figure enough. 

‘‘Oh, your honour! And has she sent any 
message.^” 

“She was not given the opportunity, my lad.” 
There was a return of hardness on the Squire’s feat- 
ures. “Do you forget our compact already? You 
have yet to earn the reward of a free intercourse with 
Jessie. But now listen! Luckily for you, since 
you desire so ardently to see Exeter soon again, the 


73 


74 


THE NINTH WAVE 


gale has dropped. The sea is going down; by all 
token it will be fair to-morrow and you will be able 
to make your first journey. I am sending you 
across to France as a courier, and you will no doubt 
be back here before noon the next day. Make your 
preparations. One word more: I have enjoined that 
you keep your mouth close, but you may give it out 
that you are engaged as my travelling attendant 
and secretary. ’Twill more than suffice to explain 
your movement and your residence here.” 

Norton left the room, more completely under the 
spell than ever. The look in the stern gray eyes, 
the manners, singularly compound of imperiousness 
and benevolence, of the great gentleman who was 
now his master, could not but have impressed the 
simple fellow in any case; but when he remembered 
at the same time that here was one who had drawn 
him from the valley of the shadow of death, it was 
little wonder that he should feel himself enslaved, 
body and soul. Withal, what hopes sprang from 
this very servitude! 

The Vidame’s third night at Anstiss Hall, like 
the first, was nuit blanche. It had been Sir Hugh’s 
purpose to show a new attitude of mind to his 
French visitor: to send him forth in a convinced 
mood. Three neighbours of n ost excellent com- 
pany had been convened. Mrs. Simnel had been 
requested to surpass herself in ingenuity, and Lori- 
mer to ransack the secret corners of the cellar. 

There was much talk of French days on the part 
of the guests; many allusions, all of intended private 
meaning, on that of the Squire, to mOre good hours 


“ ALEA JACTA ” 


75 


in reserve. Peep of day, then sunrise, found the 
company still in the best of humours with itself. 
And when Lorimer at last brought word that the 
dinghy was waiting on the beach, and that the 
traveller’s chest was already shipped, a rousing toast 
was drunk to the Vidame, before the neighours '‘of 
the proper colour” sought their horses in the stables 
for the homeward trot. 

The Squire escorted his guest to the lip of the 
cliff; and presently saw Norton, who was waiting 
in attendance on the strand, take his place in the 
stern-sheets by the side of that gentleman. As they 
pushed off, the young artisan gravely raised his hat. 

The schooner, in charge of Mr. Purkiss in person, 
was running short tacks half a mile off. Sir Hugh 
waited on the edge of the crags until the travellers 
were aboard and the Phoebe on her fairway across 
the clear northeast breeze; then, pensively, he 
returned to the Hall. 

Under favourable sailing conditions it is but a ten 
hours’ run from Torbay to Cape la Hogue. A fast 
sailer, the Phoebe did the course under the time; 
before noon she was in sight of the high coastline 
of the Cotentin, and by two o’clock the dinghy’s 
keel was grating on the shingle below the sheer cliffs 
of Brieux. The Vidame had slept luxuriously, in^a 
cabin fit indeed (in accordance with the Squire’s 
request) “for any fine lady.” He had risen in 
time to prink and prune himself as beseems a French 
gentleman about to visit a chateau wherein dewlt 
not only the lord of the soil but also the fair chate- 
laine thereof. 


76 


THE NINTH WAVE 


With Norton, owing to linguistic disabilities, he 
could have little or no intercourse. This latter, on 
his side, kept discreetly to himself: his mind far 
away, somewhere round an ancient cathedral, in 
company with a young wife. 

The new secretary and the Vidame, under the 
guidance of a fisherman whom they found drying 
nets on the high strand, reached the plateau where, 
a quarter of a mile or less inland, rose the Chateau 
de Brieux, once a strong-house of some warlike 
note, now altered to a plasuance of the more miodern 
French type, with pointed slate roofs, high windows, 
and balconies of curvetting ironwork, balustered 
stone terraces, all within high-walled gardens of 
formal device. 

The Vidame was admitted by liveried servants, 
who could not repress staring astonishment at his 
appearance on foot. Norton was uncerem.oniously 
left to pace the length of the terrace; and it must 
have been fully an hour before he was sum mooned 
into the house. He was introduced into an apart- 
ment of singular grandeur combined with absolute 
discomfort. The Chateau de Brieux, in its reno- 
vated condition, belonged to the days of the 
Grand Roy. 

The Vidame was seated near a long tapestry 
covered table, on a high-backed chair, between 
a lady of gracious beauty and a gentleman in 
crimson riding attire, at sight of whom the English 
youth remained as one blasted with astonishment. 

“My God! . . . Sir Hugh!” he cried; then 

stopped, and a deep colour mounted to his face. 
There was an amused smile on M. de Rocourt’s 


ALEA JACTA’’ 


77 


lips, a look of cold curiosity in the blue eyes of 
the lady, one of keen scrutiny in those of M. de 
Courtenay. 

“I am not Sir Hugh,” said the latter at last, in 
fair English, though with a pronounced accent. 
“Ah! I see you have already realized as much! I 
am the Comte de Courtenay, his brother. Have 
you also a message for me?” 

“A message, sir, my lord? No. My instruc- 
tions are only to bring back one from your worship.” 

The lord of Breuix pondered for a moment. Then 
to his lady, in French: 

“Of course, this man would know nothing.” 

Again turning to Norton, he asked him, with dis- 
tant interest, to narrate the extraordinary story 
of his rescue at the hands of Sir Hugh. And when 
the engraver had gone through his tale, in tones 
that every moment grew warmer with enthusiasm, 
M. de Courtenay looked at his wife with wondering 
eyes: 

“Upon my soul, Isabelle, I never would have 
believed that Hugh had so much Christian devo- 
tion in him! It is prodigious. Well,” he added 
with a smile that brought an increase of amazement 
to the young man’s soul, so absolutely was it even 
as had been the stern look of inquiry a few moments 
ago, what he had learned to associate with the 
Squire’s face yonder on the opposite coast, “well 
your confessor, no doubt, would say that grace has 
at last touched him! And that would fit in better 
than anything I have ever known of my borther, 
with M. de Rocourt’s message from England. It 
is of good augury, at any rate. So be it.” 


78 


THE NINTH WAVE 


With these words he turned his chair to the 
table, on which was the usual huge silver standish 
of French noble houses, and began writing on an 
armoried sheet. The letter took a long time, for 
he seemed to weigh every word. At last it was 
sanded, folded, elaborately sealed, and thrown to 
the messenger. 

“Here is the answer. Take it back — with all 
speed.” 

Bowing profoundly, Norton departed, not a 
trifle bewildered by what he had seen, comparing, 
perhaps, with some English prejudice, the reception 
he had found on the white cliffs of La Hogue with 
that of the red crags of Anstiss. 

Sir Hugh, sunk in an armchair, by the side of a 
table on which stood glass and decanters and a 
couple of candles nearly expiring in the sockets, 
a book on his knee, had fallen from a sombre and 
bitter reverie into the oblivion of slumber. The 
clock marked the half after two; and already, 
through the uncurtained window, the early light 
was pouring, gray and cold. A knock at the door, 
discreet enough though it was, woke the sleeper with 
a start. 

On his sharp call, “Come in!” Norton appeared 
on the threshold. He made his bow and, advancing, 
presented M. de Courtenay’s letter. 

The Squire took it up, held it closer to the dancing 
lights, gazed at the handwriting and the seals, then 
with a brusque m.ovemient that fitted with the 
tenor of his haunting thoughts, tore it open and read. 
His lips were compressed; but presently a sar- 


“ALEA JACTA’’ 79 

castic smile parted them. He read once more. 
Then: 

“Where is the master of the schooner.^” he asked. 

“ He waits below for further orders, your honour.” 

“Very good. These are the orders: We start, 
you and I, on precisely the same journey — that 
is to La Hogue — in two hours’ time. Meanwhile 
you will see, with Lorimer, that suitable pro- 
visions be taken on board, and wine and fruit. Ah! 
and tea! See to it — enough for two days. Norton, 
this is but the dawn of your second days’ service — 
yet it looks as if it might come to an end, luck help- 
ing, before to-morrow night! Go, and attend on 
me when all is ready.” 

The smile had broadened grimly on the Squire’s 
lips as he signed to his new famulus to hasten away. 
When the door was closed, he read the epistle for 
a third time. It ran, in French, in these terms: 

From the Chataeu de Brieux en Cotentin this 
21st day of June, 1751: 

Monsieur my Brother: — I thank Heaven 
which has permitted that I should receive 
such a message as that which M. le Vidame de 
Rocourt has, in this hour, brought to me from 
you. I not only am willing, but I ardently 
desire, to forget and forego any sentiment of 
animosity between us. I may say. Monsieur 
my brother, that although, as circumstances 
would have it, we have met seemingly as 
enemies, no feeling of enmity has ever arisen 
spontaneously in my heart similar to that 
which you have of late years expressed for me. 


80 


THE NINTH WAVE 


I understand that you desire the interview to 
take place within the briefest delay. In 
accordance with this wish, I shall wait at the 
town mansion of M. le Comte de Faville, now 
Marechal de Camp, at Cherbourg, for the 
honour of your visit, from to-morrow, that is 
to say, Thursday, the 22nd. I expect to be 
there about noon, and shall hope for your 
arrival during the course of that day or the 
following. 

At the discreet but very instant suggestion 
of M. de Rocourt, I beg to assure you that there 
can be no occasion of your meeting Madame de 
Courtenay, who will not accomipany me. She 
remains at Brieux, and no doubt will welcome 
on my return the news of a happy recon- 
ciliation between estranged relations. 

I beg. Monsieur my brother, that you will 
truly believe in the high esteem in which I 
hold you. 

Andre Comte de Courtenay. 

“The die is cast,” said Sir Hugh. “Now, Mon- 
sieur my brother, we shall ere long know the result 
of the throw!” 

Although still in a favourable quarter, the breeze 
had somewhat slackened, and it was past the fourth 
hour after noon when the Phoebe lowered her 
dinghy about a mile off the strand of Brieux, to land 
Norton, alone and now bent on an errand vastly 
different from the simple office of fetch and carry 
he had had to perform on the previous day. 


“ALEA JACTA” 


81 


The office liked him not. There was no use in 
his attempting to blink the fact. He loathed it. 
Every element of his nature revolted against it. 
Certes it was not murder — the one deed he had been 
careful to eliminate from his compact — it was not 
even a petty crime like theft; but it seemed to his 
frank soul as sordid, alm.ost as repulsive. It was 
lying. It was to be a lie pushed to the direst degree; 
a continued lie, a pathetic — nay, a cruel, lie! Yet 
he was going to carry it through to the last jot of 
the letter, to the faintest essence of the spirit. 

In the long conversation he had held with his 
new servant — after he had allowed him (with that 
sedulous care for details which is the stamp of 
mastery in all scheming) to have a restful spell of 
sleep and an invigorating meal — in that carefully 
prepared explanation of the duty he expected in 
exchange for the ‘‘flotsam life,” Sir Hugh had had 
powerful arguments: There was an oath volun- 
tarily taken; there was Jessie, her happiness, her 
future; there was the “fair start in life”; there was 
also the assurance on the word of a gentleman that 
no violence, not the smallest indignity, to a lady 
was contemplated. And Norton, under the gray 
eyes, felt the word of a gentleman as irrevocable 
as Fate. 

But there was lying, consummate hypocrisy, a 
ruthless deception to be practised. And that was 
only the first part of the service he had entered upon. 
Well, he was going to perform it swiftly, as a thiug 
abhorred; fully and well, like a man who, at least, 
will not jeopardize the reward of his deed! And 
Sir Hugh knew it. His last word, as Norton 


THE NINTH WAVE 


saluted to take his leave before lowering himself 
into the boat, had been — drawing a large and 
heavily sealed letter from his pocket. 

‘‘Here, Norton, is your charter of freedom and 
of a restored fortune. When you land at Anstiss, 
in company with them I wish to see there, this will 
pass into your hands.” 

Madame de Courtenay, a great fan of peacock’s 
feathers in her hand, was just descending the steps 
of the terrace, in company with her duegne and her 
greyhound, for a walk among the formal flower-beds 
after the great heat of the day. The greyhound 
suddenly gave a warning growl, and stood by his 
mistress with trembling lip of menace. 

“Whom have we here.^” inquired the great lady. 
“Peace, Roland!” And she stroked the hound 
with perfumed glove. 

A man was seen approaching from the gateway 
at a rapid stride up the long avenue. He was bare- 
headed, with attire disordered like one who has run 
at greatest haste. When he drew near it was seen 
in the sunshine that his face was shining with sweat 
and that he was panting for breath. And suddenly 
Madame de Courtenay lost her languid air, and 
cried out : 

“But in Heaven’s name, this is the man who was 
here yesterday!” For no reason that could in 
sober thought be urged, a sense of dread fell like 
an icy hand on the bride of a few days. “And 
he bears bad news, I know it!” she went on, in a 
fainter voice. “Look at his face!” 

She took some rapid steps toward him, and Norton 


“ALEA JACTA” 83 

stopped short, staring at her with strained and fear- 
ful eyes. 

“Speak! What have you to tell me.^” 

Madame de Courtenay had no English — Norton, 
or course, never a word of French. 

“Madame — my lady — ” he began with a 
trembling in his voice. 

“Mercy — wretch, cannot you speak the lan- 
guage.^ What is it.^ M. de Courtenay ” 

The young man dropped his eys, and murmured: 

“Yes.” 

“But what is it.^ What has happened.^” She 
wrung her hands. “Run, Berthe, fetch Nichols! 
He will question this miserable, and tell us. Go! 
Ah, I know!” she suddenly cried, with a shriek. 
“They have met — they have fought again! I 
felt it! Say it out! M. de Courtenay is hurt! 
Where is he.^” 

Although unable to seize any word, Norton took 
in the question from tone and gestures. 

“In the schooner,” he answered. He pointed 
seaward, then made a gesture as though to draw 
her on. “He sends for you at once — at once!” 
he stammered. And again through the unknown 
speech she took the meaning. 

Without another word she began running 
toward the gate, closely followed by the young man, 
whose head was in a whirl, partly from his efforts 
to carry out a task so repulsive, partly from the 
astonishment at the fantastic manner in which the 
wife had leaped at the very thing he was about 
to make her believe. 

By the time they were nearing the cliff, esqorted 


84 


THE NINTH WAVE 


by the hound, they were overtaken by an old nr an, 
much out of breath and very red in the face. This 
was Nichols, a servant of the late Sir Percy, who, 
as a young man, had ridden with him in the Rebel- 
lion, passed with him over to France, and remained 
in the family’s service ever since. 

The schooner could be seen, as close inshore 
as she could run. 

“He is there!” panted the young wife. 

She stopped a moment, clinging to the old ser- 
vant’s arm to take breath. The tears welled up at 
last, and she fell on the scrubby grass, sobbing 
miserably. 

A new terror seized Norton. Was he to lose 
his prize after all this horrible comedy? The 
woman must be got on board. Poor thing — poor 
thing! . . . Even so Jessie would have sobbed. 

Ah ! but Jessie was not to sob over a lost husband, 
thanks to Sir Hugh. And Sir Hugh was waiting! 

“Tell her ladyship,” he whispered to Nichols, 
“ she must hasten — he may live — and yet, again, 
there may not be a moment to lose. And he must 
see her.” 

“Who must see her la’ship?” growled Nichols, 
uncomprehending. 

“Mounseer Courtenay — quick!” 

“Thunder!” said the old trooper, and bent down 
to lift his mistress, at the same time translating his 
compatriot’s words. 

Supported by the two men, she began the de- 
scent. For all three it was like a bewildering dream 
— a nightmare, indeed, for her. In the haste, in 
the glare, the heat, the diflBiculty of the descent by 


“ALEA JACTA” 


85 


a path cut on the very face of the cliff, there was 
no room for connected questions and answers. 
And Norton, prepared as he had been with a plaus- 
ible account, was spared the misery of telling it. 
There was, indeed, no need to urge speed; the wife’s 
soul was already on the vessel. She was hurling 
herself toward it. The dinghy was waiting, two 
oarsmen in attendance. She was carried on board 
by four brawny English arms, tender to a woman. 
Norton jumped in. Nichols was about to follow, 
but there was a cry of ‘‘No room for you, lad!” 
from one of the sailors; and the boat shoved off*, 
leaving the old servant with the dog on the strand 
dark-visaged, and suddenly suspicious. 

Mr. Purkiss, blandly paternal and humorous, 
lifted the lady on board; and immediately, on his 
awaited order, the Phoebe set her course eastward, 
heading for Cherbourg. 

Madame de Courtenay looked round in an agony 
of expectation. The master, in his most propitiat- 
ing voice, answered the mute inquiry: 

“This way, my lady.” 

She was introduced into the cabin, and heard the 
door discreetly closed behind her. Sir Hugh was 
sitting, his elbow on his knee, his chin upon his 
hand, facing her. On her entrance he rose slowly, 
and his tall form nearly reached to the roof. In 
the reduced light, after the sun glare, she was for 
a second deceived, and rushed forward with a ring- 
ing cry: 

Andre! Mon AndreP' She would have fallen 
into his arms but for the sudden horrible recog- 
nition, which jerked her back, staring wildly. 


86 


THE NINTH WAVE 


“Heaven be merciful!” she said, in a husky, agon- 
i2;ed voice. “ You ! What have you done with him.^ ” 

Sir Hugh was ashy pale, but his eyes burned as he 
gazed once more, after so long a span of loneliness, 
at the woman who had passed him by for his double. 

“Madame,” he answered, in a wilfully level 
voice, “let me comfort you, for the instant, in one 
word. M. de Courtenay is safe and sound. At 
least, I know nothing to the contrary, for I have 
not seen him since the day when we were brought 
together before Messieurs les Marechaux.” 

There was a silence, broken only by the creaking 
of mast and rigging, and the swish of water by the 
Phoebe's sides. Madame de Courtenay, strug- 
gling, in the revulsion of her feelings, with the amaze- 
ment and indignation that for a moment overpow- 
ered her, at length recovered some hard-won com- 
posure. 

“Then, sir, I will ask the meaning of this out- 
rageous trick ” 

She spoke the words with haughty disdain, but 
her lips were still twitching. Sir Hugh considered 
her for a while with darkling admiration. 

“Madame,” he answered, at last, “there is a 
saying that all is fair in love and war. It has not 
been your pleasure that it should remain love 
between us. Ever since, it has been mine that it 
should, therefore, be war with M. de Courtenay. 
Up to now, the fortune of war has been so hard on 
me, and M. de Courtenay has been so obliviously 
happy in love, that he no doubt thought the war 
was over; thought that I was thoroughly encom- 
passed by his refusal to come and meet me! Well, 


ALEA JACTA” 


87 


shackled as I was by my parole, I have been forced 
to devise means that will induce him to take up 
arms again, and I cannot conceive that he will refuse 
to do so now! Within a few hours he will have 
received word of the place where you can be found, 
and, therefore, madame, your estrangement from 
monsieur my brother will, I feel sure, be of very 
short duration. As for the interview which I 
desire with him,” went on Sir Hugh, with his sar- 
donic smile,” it need not last more than a very few 
minutes!” 

Madame de Courtenay had grown white to the 
lips, but, with a brave effort, retained all her haughty 
bearing. 

“I see, sir. And where, if I may know, do you 
propose to take me as a prisoner?” 

“Oh, madame, not a prisoner! An honoured 
hostage, a respectfully guarded guest in my poor 
house, and, in all likelihood, but for a very few 
hours. This vessel will remain in attendance to 
take you back, you and your husband. Yes, I 
may say, whatever the issue of our interview, take 
you back, you and your husband ... As soon 
as the hostage has been redeemed. Meanwhile, 
you have undisturbed possession of this cabin, 
which I have striven to make, as far as possible, 
fit to receive so exalted a visitor. We can hardly 
be off the English coast before next sunrise, but you 
will find a couch and, I hope, acceptable refreshment. 
Have I your leave to retire?” 

She had opened her lips for a bitter retort, but 
closed them again upon silence. In answer to an 
angry sign from her, he left the cabin. 


88 


THE NINTH WAVE 


Beating against the wind, it took the schooner close 
upon three hours to reach Cherbourg roads. The 
skies were already assuming the gorgeous hues of 
the sundown of a brilliant hot day, when the dinghy 
was again lowered. 

Norton, who for some time had been closely 
listening to precise instructions from Sir Hugh, 
received a sealed note from the latter’s hands, 
placed it carefully into a breast-pocket, ascended 
with grave mien into the boat, and was rowed away 
toward the harbour. 

‘‘The address upon this letter,” had said Sir 
Hugh, “will be your passport. Show it, without 
parting with it, to any one who may stop you, and 
you will be guided to the house. As for your 
return, make it your business that it be in company 
of the gentleman whom it is my desire to receive 
at Anstiss.” 

Half an hour later the boat returned, without its 
passenger; and the chooner, bearing away the fair 
hostage, trimmed her sails for the Devon coast. 

The Hotel de Faville, the residence of the mili- 
tary commander at ( herbourg, stood in th Place 
d’Armes, at a corner of row of handsome, cold 
buildings of greystone, a lorned with much black 
and gilt i onwork. Before the double stairway 
le ding to the great door, a white- oated se try 
ested his hands wearily upon the bend of his bay- 
onet. 

At one of the balconied windows, from which 
a fair view could be had of the harbour and the road- 
stead beyond, and from which, indeed, b the aid 


“ALEA JACTA 


89 


of a telescope, the movemmts of a schooner in the 
offing had been observed that could hardly be any 
other than the one he was expecting, M. de Courte- 
nay sat, impatiently waiting, and but little enlivened 
by the converse either of his friend, M. de Faville, 
or of that royal messenger, Le Vidame de Rocourt. 

The Lord of Brieux’s mind, even like that of the 
humble engraver of silverwares was away in his 
home, by the side of his young wife. The coming 
interview would be disagreeable, and he longed to 
have it well over — though, certes, longed for that 
not more ardently than Norton, who was at that 
moment slowly drawing near. 

Sir Hugh’s emissary at last stopped at the door, 
and hesitatingly showed his letter to the sentry. M. 
de Courtenay suddenly recognized him from above. 

“Why, Vi ’ame,” he cired, “here is your black- 
vested attendant of yesterday! What is in the 
wind n w.^” Then, bending over the rail to the 
sentry, who was shaking his head in token of an 
inability to read: “Send that man up!” he called. 
Norton entered the room, blanched by anxiety, 
but beyond doubt with a less distraught heart 
than that which he had carried to the cliffs of 
Brieux a few hours before. He presented the letter. 
M. de Courtenay took it up impatiently and read — 
read with a look of petrifying astonishment which 
promptly passed to one of such fury that the two 
other Frenchmen exchanged a glance of dismay, 
and Norton involuntarily took a step back. This 
movement drew the attention of the reader, who 
suddenly made a savage clutch at the engraver’s 
throat. 


90 


THE NINTH WAVE 


“It is impossible! And thou, miserable, what 
knowest thou? Tell me before I strangle thy 
dog’s life out!” 

In his frenzy he . poke the words in French. 
Norton’s choking answer in English partially 
brought him back to reason: 

“Please you, sir, I am but a messenger.” Then, 
having drawn breath once more, he went on with 
a new firmness: “And please, your lordship, I 
am a free-born Englishman, and not to be used this 
wise.” 

“We shall see to that anon, fellow!” came the 
answer. “Meanwhile . . . but no, the bare 

idea is mad — impossible — grotesque ! ” 

He grasped his forehead in his palm; then, with 
a wild gesture, handed the paper to the Vidame. 

“M. de Rocourt, what make you of that? Read 
— read it aloud, that I may believe my ears, if I 
cannot believe my eyes!” 

The Vidame, himself roused to the highest pitch 
of excitement, read. M. de aville listened with 
the round eyes of complete bewilderment: 

“M. de Courtenay,” ran the letter, in 
French, “twice before have I had the honour 
of inviting you to pay me a visit upon my Eng- 
lish estate — courtesies to which ou have not 
thou ht fit even to vouchsafe a reply. I am per- 
tinacious, M. de Courtenay. You should have 
remembered that; and also tha^ there are 
some requests to which a gentleman should 
never refuse himself. Having, thro g" M. 
de Rocourt, heard of the consummation of your 


“ALEA JACTA” 


91 


espousals, I have bethought myself of seeking 
a persuasive auxiliary in the person of Madame 
de Courtenay herself. This help (which, in 
truth, should not have been required) has 
graciously been granted to me. Madame de 
Courtenay is now on her way to England, 
where she confidently expects your prompt ap- 
pearance. 

“You will, no doubt, the more readily for- 
give my not keeping the appointment recently 
made with you when you conceive that my 
first duty, in the circumstances, is to escort 
the lady across the water, and to attend in 
person to her safety as well as to her suitable 
entertainment in the house where she honours 
me by waiting your arrival. The messenger 
whom I am now sending to you has my strin- 
gent order not to reveal, while still on French 
territory, where this particular house stands; 
and I know he will not transgress it. But 
he will guide you to the place faithfully. And, 
believe it, to see you approach it in his com- 
pany is just now the keenest desire I know. 

“Hugh Courtenay. 

“Written at sea, this 22nd day of June, 1751. 

M. de Courtenay was ragingly pacing the room, 
teari^-g his handkerchief to strips, ever and anon 
mopping his forehead with the rag. 

“It is true, then! He does say that Isabelle is 
with him . . . Sang Dieul How has it been 

done.^ . . . Mart (T Dieu! If I could believe 

that he . . 


92 


THE NINTH WAVE 


His eyes fell once more on the still and silent 
messenger, and he stopped with fearful threat in 
his eyes. 

“Thou shalt speak, hound !” he suddenly snarled. 
“If I have to force each word out of they throat 
with my sword! Where is the lady?” 

“On board Sir Hugh’s vessel, my lord.” 

“Where is he taking her?” 

Norton shook his head. 

“I shall take you there, my lord, if you will 
provide ship. You cannot find the place without 
me. More than that I may not say.” 

“We shall see!” 

M. de Courtenay bounded to the table, where he 
had laid his sword, and drew it from the scabbard. 
Then, uick as thought, he menaced the young 
man’s throat. 

“Wilt thou speak?” 

Sir Hugh had said well when he assured M. de 
Courtenay that the messenger would not flinch. 
Norton was white as his own shirt; nevertheless 
he looked his assailant bravely in the eyes. 

“If you murder me, my lord,” he said, “who 
will guide you to-morow?” 

“To-morrow! Thinkest thou I shvall wait till 
to-morrow? Speak! Where has she been taken?” 
He pressed the point, and drove the youth to the 
wall; pressed again, and a few drops of blood ap- 
peared between the blue of the steel and the white 
of the neck. “Speak!” he repeated, stamping his 
foot. 

The Vidame approached and laid his hand gently 
on M. de Courtenay’s arm. 


“ALEA JACTA 


93 


“My dear Comte,” he urged, in his suave voice, 
“permit me to entreat. I cannot help believing 
that we are on a false track. If this fellow speaks 
from mere fright, he will have to invent a lie; for 
I strongly opine that this story of the Comtesse, 
whom we left at the chateau this morning, being 
on her wa to England now, is a sheer impossibility 
— an obvious fable to try and lure you to England.” 

No doubt Norton owed his life then to the 
Vidame’s indifferent intervention, as he had, two 
days before, owed it to Sir Hugh’s courage and 
vigour. M. de Courtenay, struck by this new 
aspect of the case, lowered his sword and listened 
frowningly. 

“Sir Hugh,” went on the Vidame, with a tran- 
sient tone of harshness, “has duped me. And for 
that impertinence, for his sending me on a b.otless 
errand, I shall even, if you yourself do not, return 
to England and demand a close account. He never 
intended, that is now patent, to carry out the 
benevolent project of his Majesty; but he devised 
this inept story to bring you, and with tearing sail, 
to England. Truly the scheme is crude! Believe 
me, if you return to Brieux presently you will be 
in time for supper with Madame de Courtenay and 
have a good laugh at your brother’s expense!” 

M. de Courtenay, but too anxious to believe so 
welcome an explanation, had already lost all thought 
of Norton, who silently stanched with his kerchief 
the bio d at his throat. 

“Yes, of course,” he murmured, “the thing is 
impossible! Why, it was only yesterday that ” 

He stopped, and now hearkened to a clatter of 


94 


THE NINTH WAVE 


hoofs that had been coming up the street, and that 
presently stopped beneath the window. 

‘‘Monsieur de Faville?” 

The loud inquiry was made to the sentry in unmis- 
takably English accents. The Comte de Courte- 
nay ran to the window. 

“Nichols!” he cried, blasted with fresh appre- 
hension. Then : “ Come up instantly ! ” he called out. 

The old English servant burst into the room. 

“Heaven be praised, it was not true!” he cried. 
But the first ring of joy in his voice was instantly 
lost in lament. “Her ladyship, my lord! Her 
ladyship!” 

“She is not at Brieux, then.^” gasped M. de 
Courtenay. 

“No, my lord. The last I saw of my lady was 
as she hurried to the schooner — to rejoin you — 
wounded, in danger, they said, my lord! I was 
left behind. The schooner set Che bourg way. 
I knew not which way to turn. If my lord lies 
at Cherbourg, I thought — knowing indeed that 
your honour went thither in the morning — I’ll 
be wanted.” He turned, ^aw Norton’s ashen coun- 
tenance, and thundered: “Ho! here stands the 
messenger!” 

The engraver found himself once more the focus 
of four pairs of menacing eyes. There came a silence 
charged with fury. M. de Faville, after a while, 
as Marechal de Camp, began to speak coldly of 
prison, of the thumbscrew, and the ultimate pros- 
pect of the scaffold: men, in France, were broken 
on the wheel for lesse^ outrage than the kidnapping 
of a person of quality! And M. de Courtenay 


“ALEA JACTA 


95 


found cruel satisfaction in translatin the words 
for the youth’s benefit, and in seeing, as he thought, 
the hair rise on his head. Certain it is that Norton 
looked sick unto fainting. 

At last the Vidame spoke; and once again his 
words of reason saved Norton from a far harsher 
fate than that of being torn upon the reefs of Hope’s 
Nose. 

The matter, said M. de Rocourt, seemed graver 
than he had held at first. Sir Hugh’s scheme was 
not, after all, the futile one he had thought: the 
plan had been accurately laid, and, indeed, it forced 
M. de Courtenay’s hand. Was it not the only 
possible way 1 ft v pen to them to accept the chal- 
lenge on the terms in which it had been sent, and 
follow the guidance of Sir Hugh’s messenger.^ In 
M. de Courtenay’s anguished state of mind, the 
smallest gain of time surely would be worth any 
amount of idle revenge on a mere tool. 

The counsel prevailed. Norton was consigned 
for the nonce to the charge of the sentry; and a 
feverish search was started for a suitable vessel. 
It was some hours, however, before one could be 
discovered sufficiently swift and able to start 
forthwith. 

The Englishman, under the jealous guard of 
M. de Courtenay, the Vidame, and old Nichols, 
was conveyed on board. But only when the lugger 
was clear out, some miles at sea, could he be induced 
to give any definite directio : up to that time the 
course had been vaguely north, toward the English 
coast. 

“Let her head be set for Teignmouth,” he said 


96 


THE NINTH WAVE 


at last in response to furiously impatient demands. 
“When you make it in the morning, then I shall be 
able to direct you to the landing place.” 

During the ^ ours of his waiting in the sentry’s 
hostile keeping Norton had had leisure to realize 
all the sagacity and the completeness of Sir Hugh’s 
scheme, and, at the same time, his forethought for 
his messenger. Had the letter been more explicit, 
not only would the Squire have remained uncertain 
of the quarter from which he was to expect the raid 
upon his house, but, in all probability, his devoted 
instrument in this plot would have been left on the 
other side to rot in a French prison, or even to 
perish amid the horrors of a French scaffold. 


VI 


A BOLT FROM STORMY SKIES 

Between the garden walls of Anstiss Hall and the 
edge of the red cliff there ran a level grass path, 
shorn smooth by grazing sheep — the highest point 
on that part of the coast. From thence you could 
see clear of Berry Head, on the southern horizon; 
and, to the north, past the mouth of the Exe. 

Ever since the return of the Phoebe, Mr. 
Purkiss, under Sir Hugh’s stringent injunctions, 
had kept watch from this vantage ground : the 
Squire’s main preoccupation now was to receive 
timely warning of the expected visit. Periodically 
sweeping, with experienced thoroughness, the semi- 
circle of horizon, boundary between the deep blue 
sea and the transparent azure of sunlit sky; smoking 
an occasional pipe of very special Louisiana; refresh- 
ing himself, when he thought it opportune, with a 
snack or a pull at the bottle; enlivened now and 
then by a short visit from Sir Hugh himself, the 
hours had glided plesantly enough for one of his 
habit and cheerful disposition. 

Since mid-day theheat had grown intense, and the 
air even on this high point oppressive. On the sea 
level the wind had dropped to a mere fanning 
breeze, greatly to the Squire’s vexation, who fore- 
saw, with burning impatience, unwelcome delay. 

97 


98 


THE NINTH WAVE 


A storm, however, was obviously brewing, as Mr. 
Purkiss pointed out. ‘‘And that,” he remarked 
cheerfully, “means the raising of the wind some- 
what, Sir Hugh!” 

The sun was half-way down on his course. It 
suddenly disappeared behind a rising cloudbank. 
The master lifted his spyglass once more, with 
unerring precision, toward a sail that had for some 
time attracted his attention in the northeast. 

“Here comes something. Sir Hugh, which might 
possibly be what you expect. Lugger rigged, 
French shape. She seemed to be making Exmouth, 
but now she is heading this way. Ah, she has 
already picked up the wind! In half an hour we 
shall know for sure.” 

A change had come over Sir Hugh’s face. The 
look of obsession it had worn all day had given place 
to one of exultation. Gone was the “black dog” 
from his shoulders; and to use another term of the 
North, he seemed to have grown “fey.” He knew 
now — though he could not have said how — that 
this distant vessel was bringing his prize, and that 
his hour was drawing near. A growl of thunder 
reached the cliff. He looked at the darkening skies 
with a smile, and once again at the speck. 

“Come on the wing of the storm — so but you 
come quick!” he muttered, to the puzzling of Mr. 
Purkiss. “You will let me know when she is within 
a mile,” he said briefly to the master, and walked 
back into the house. 

For about an hour he busied himself in his own 


A BOLT FROM STORMY SKIES 


99 


room harkening to the thunder that drew every 
moment nearer; ever and anon humming a cheerful 
air. He sorted papers; attended to his dress; made 
a serious selection among his swords. He was in 
the act of buckling a favourite Kbnigsmarck to his 
hip, when, upon a shattering flash of lightning, Mr. 
Purkiss presented himself at the door. 

“The lugger is making for the Stone, there is 
little doubt about that. Sir Hugh. You can almost 
tell the faces on board, by the glass. I think I 
make out the French gentleman and also your young 
man. Sir Hugh. At least, there are two in black 
dress. There is also one in red.” 

“They have come!” This was said decisively. 
“Go you down by the beach and help them to land. 
Tell Norton that I shall be awaiting him at the top 
of the path on the cliff. See that he comes first. 
Aon will guide the strangers up.” 

Purkiss departed; ard Sir Hugh walked straight 
to the apartment which once had been his mother’s 
at Anstiss Hall, and which had been allotted that 
morning to Madamie de Courtenay. He knocked, 
and was confronted by Mrs. Simnel. 

“Announce me to her ladyship,” he ordered. 

When he was admitted, he bowed low, birt avoided 
to rest his eyes upon her face. One glance had 
suflBced to show what havoc had already been 
m.ade rrpon the radiant beauty of it by the 
fatigues, the emotions, the miortificatioris of the 
day, and above all by the corning anxiety of the 
moment. 

“Madame,” he said, with a detached air, “M. 
de Courtenay is, I believe, even now about to land. 


100 


THE NINTH WAVE 


Will you not honour me by your presence at the 
head of the cliff, where I propose to await his arrival 
in my humble estate?” 

The lady made no reply. But she rose and, 
neglecting his proffered wrist, passed by and pro- 
ceeded downstairs, then into the garden. She 
knew the way, for she had walked it that very morn- 
ing. He followed, keeping courteously half a step 
behind. The brilliant sunshine of an hour ago had 
given place to the livid hues of low, scurrying 
thunder clouds. 

When they had reached the edge of the cliff a 
rowboat could be seen vigorously rounding the 
corner of Tower Stone. There came another flash. 
Madame de Courtenay, gazing eagerly over the 
edge, recognized the crimson coat; and instinctively 
she held out her hands with an appealing gesture. 
Her figure was clearly visible, drawn against the 
lurid skyline; there came an answer to her gesture: 
the flutter of a handkerchief from the boat. 

Sir Hugh turned sharply toward her, frowning. 
He strove at first to keep his voice courteously low. 

“Madame de Courtenay,” he said, “within the 
coming few minutes my fate, and yours, will prob- 
ably be decided. Within the next quarter of an 
hour, I say, M. de Courtenay, or myself, will be 
stretched upon this patch of grass, never to rise 
more. Leave matters to the working of Fate. 
M. de Cour.tenay is valiant: he may again be 
victorious, but do you not spoil his last chance! 
I will not be balked of my hour — the hour I 
have so long| dreamed of, for which I have so 
long yearned, waited, toiled! I tell you it shall. 


A BOLT FROM STORMY SKIES 


101 


this day, be mine! let me entreat you, therefore, 
to stand apart and make not the slightest move- 
ment to draw near M. de Courtenay before our 
swords have put an end to our hatred. If you 
attempt to screen him, I swear to you, madame, 
that it shall be murder if it is not to be fight, and 
that I shall run him up to the hilts even in your 
very arms!” 

Gradually his voice had gathered a raucous sound, 
and his eyes blazed with a fierceness that made the 
terrified woman step back from him, blanched to 
the lips. 

At that moment Norton appeared at the head 
of the path, breathless with his running ascent. 
“Sir Hugh!” he panted. “They come! And in 
Heaven’s name, guard yourself!” 

“Brave lad! Brave lad!” cried the Squire, his 
eyes madly dancing. “Hast done it! Hast done 
it well! Take, and hurry away — this place 
is now deadly for you. Take, and hurry to 
thy Jessie, to thy reward! You have given me 
mine!” 

He tossed the sealed packet at his messenger’s 
feet. Norton, after a moment’s hesitating debate, 
took it up; then, a prey to the long-combated fear, 
fairly took to his heels and fied. A new crash of 
thunder covered his departure. The sound of 
it had not died away ere M. de Courtenay, hatless 
and disordered, appeared in his turn breathlessly 
at the top of the crag, followed a moment later by 
the panting Vidame, the master smugler, and old 
Nichols. He had his sword already drawn, as one 
taking a place by assault. 


102 


THE NINTH WAVE 


At sight of him Sir Hugh gave a great laugh of 
triumph: 

“Aha, ha, ha! M. de Courtenay, do I indeed 
see you here at last!” 

Quick as fury he whipped out his own blade, and, 
with a magnificent gesture of swordsman’s chal- 
lenge, held it exultantly aloft a second before falling 
on guard. 

On the instant the world about him seemed to 
become one flash of dazzling light, one encompassing 
roar of crash, and tearing. Then all was still. 

When, some moments later, power to see and hear, 
and think, had returned, the fearsome thunderbolt 
drawn by the brandished sword seemed to have 
left every one unscathed. Sir Hugh was still erect, 
dominating in his attitude of challenge and exul- 
tation. The bystanders looked at each other with 
bewildered faces, then drew nearer. Then it was 
noticed that his clothes were rent in numberless 
slits through which the seared flesh could be seen. 
Still he moved not. All of a sudden M. de Courtenay 
sheathed his weapon; he advanced with qiuck 
strides, stopped close, and gently touched him. 
And then, rigid as a log. Sir Hugh fell, first upon 
his brother’s shoulder, then to the ground, face 
downward, his arm still extended and clutching 
the sword. 

“Old friend,” whispered Purkiss to Nichols, as 
they prepared to carry the body into the house, 
“our Sir Hugh is gone, and yours, it seems, has 
come pat to replace him!” He looked from the 
dead to the living Courtenay, who was tenderly 


A BOLT FROM STORMY SKIES 


103 


.supporting his fainting wife, whilst the Vidame 
fanned her face with his hat. “But, look you 
here,” he went on, “let him take advice and leave 
drowning men alone. That lad in black, that’s 
come and gone, has brought our Sir Hugh his death : 
we all knew he would, that had heard the tale!” 

The “lad in black,” that night, telling his incred- 
ble story to the young wife at his knee, even as he 
showed her the undeniable draft on the local banker 
which had formed the contents of the packet, felt 
an unaccountable thread of sorrow mingle with the 
web of his joy. Sir Hugh, killed by Heaven’s 
fire, for all his ruthlessness, was he not a man that 
could have commanded a man’s devotion? 


THE END 


THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 


MAY 12 1911 








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